LOST with or without you
by Lola'sStillLOST
Summary: An AU story: Oceanic 815 lands at LAX just fine, but you know the island isn't done with them! This time: One coincidence too many, even for Jack. And... The End.
1. New Chapter 1

**The Island**  
><strong>Path from the Cove to the Swan Hatch<br>**

Desmond Hume is running so hard he can't feel his feet or the ground, and his lungs are straining to keep up.

Behind him Kelvin Inman is dead, the blood flowing from the back of his head drying on a rock. Ahead of him Desmond pictures the Swan Station, the clock ticking down to zero and then those red and black images he saw flipping forward, the whole hatch shaking the way it had that time they'd lost track of who was on duty.

He remembers what Kelvin's told him over and over these past three years and he pictures an implosion, a huge flash, the end of the island and maybe the whole world.

"My God, my God," he runs harder, faster, and when he gets there he takes the steps down the side entrance two at a time.

He swings into the computer room to find it's still happily beeping its calm, bright steady beep. He looks up at the clock and starts keying in the numbers, and he's got the '8' in and is reaching for the 1 to enter '15' when he hears the first blare of the alarm. It barely has a chance to sound a second time and the room has only faintly rumbled under his feet when he pushes "execute".

The clock makes its whooshing, metallic bird wing sound and turns back to 108 minutes.

Desmond is panting, his eyes wild, sweat dripping down from his hair onto his hands which are folded in front of his mouth. Relief replaces his terror, until he realizes it: He's alone now.

**On Board Oceanic 815**

Thirty-six thousand feet above Desmond, 324 people are catching their breath, too.

The plane had plunged, bucked back up and then fell again throwing suitcases and several people into the ceiling, flinging them to the floor. Then it ended as fast as it had started. Everyone held their breath. When the turbulence didn't resume there were cheers, relieved laughter and a few tears.

"Are you okay?" Jack reached over to the woman to his right. He felt responsible for her, for telling her everything would be fine right up until the second it wasn't.

"I think so," Rose said. She took the hand he offered, but then hers went toward the back of her head and Jack stood and leaned over her, his hands following until he saw the contusion, a little blood, not too much. "One of the suitcases might have hit me."

"Looks that way, but don't worry," he leaned back, gave her a nod for reassurance. "It's not bad at all, just a small cut."

He saw someone walking their way as he checked on the others who'd been tossed around, and he guessed it was the husband she mentioned, who had been in the restroom. He was looking panicky, and Jack redirected his attention with a hand to his shoulder, pointing behind them toward the stewards' station in the mid-section of the plane.

"Can you see if they can bring us some ice in a bag for her? She just needs ice, she'll be fine."

Bernard nodded, turned back wordlessly. Jack saw everyone else around him was back in their seats, no obvious signs of distress, and so he reached up over Rose to press the call button. One of the attendants walked their way.

"Anyone else need help?" Jack asked.

"Are you a doctor?" Cindy asked, already motioning him to follow her as he nodded. "There's a woman up front: She doesn't appear to be injured but she's extremely pregnant and I think she's having a panic attack."

Claire was breathing into a white paper bag that had formerly held someone's sandwich from the airport cafe when Cindy pointed her out, and Jack stood silently for a second, pressing down lightly on the bag with one finger to catch her eyes.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Claire," she said, into the bag, not moving it, "Claire Littleton," and he had to bite back a laugh, nodding, fighting to keep his face straight.

"Claire, I hate to tell you this, but breathing into a bag doesn't really accomplish much," she dropped it, then, and he saw she was still shaky, tears drying on her face. "Do you do yoga? Meditate?"

He asked it as much to hear her voice, gauge how much oxygen she was getting, as for her answer.

"No," she paused, coughing her voice raspy, "Not all that much into new agey stuff."

"Me either," Jack smiled, "But focusing on calming your breathing is the best thing to do. Try it: In through your nose, hold and breathe out really slowly through your mouth. You'll see, it'll work."

Claire nodded, tried it.

"Your doctor let you fly this many weeks in?" Jack asked, sizing things up as she breathed in and out several times, the color in her face improving by the second, the panic visibly melting away. "Do you have family meeting you there?"

"She said it'd be okay, yeah."

Jack crouched down next to her so as not to be looming overhead.

"What little family I have is in Sydney," she said, shrugging, squeezing back the additional tears his question had unexpectedly drawn out of her. "Not that it's much of a family at all because it sure isn't, never has been."

He flinched slightly, and Claire saw he was sorry he'd so personal a question. Then he squeezed her hand and she thought she'd never seen someone smile and look so sad at the same time. It made her wonder for a second why he was on the plane.

"But the couple that's adopting, I'm going straight to their house. They're expecting me."

"Good. Feeling better? No pain at all, no cramping? No dizziness?" Claire shook her head. "I'm sure they already have a doctor lined up. You should probably get in and see her or him tomorrow, sound good?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "Thanks, Doctor..."

"Jack," he stood, "No problem," and he started back to his seat with a nod and a wave.

"Thanks, Jack. See you later."

If he heard her he didn't react and Claire sat there, squinting at nothing at all in front of her and then looking back toward him.

"Why in the world did I say that?" she asked under her breath.

The flight home to LAX took much longer than it should have, by nearly four hours. One of the passengers was telling anyone who would listen that the plane had made a long, gradual turn after the jolt, like maybe the pilots realized they were going the wrong way or something. But everyone was so relieved just to be safely down that no one paid much mind to what Neil thought about the matter.

**The Island**  
><strong>Swan Hatch<strong>  
><strong>September 23, 2004<strong>

Fifteen hours after the close call with the button Desmond was standing on the top step of the side entrance to the hatch with a cup of coffee in his hands and his nose up high in the air. He was sniffing, teasing out the island smells of dirt and plant and ocean, and after three years of flat hatch air he felt almost drunk from it.

He remembered his last conversation with her.

"When're ya getting married?" She had looked shocked, not knowing he knew about her engagement or that her father had broken it to him in the cruelest way possible. But now it hit him that she hadn't only been shocked, she had been disappointed that he seemed to be letting her go so easily.

"Maybe in another world," Desmond said to himself, "maybe somewhere else I give up. Not here."

His eyes scanned the jungle, planning. He had 100 minutes to himself, on the safe side, before he had to be back. It might be enough time to just leave - get to The Elizabeth and sail away. But what if... what if it did matter, the button?

His hand reached to his throat, felt the edges of the key hanging from the chain.

Maybe he wasn't alone. He'd been here 35 months, but this was the most he'd ever seen of the place. Who could say what or who might be out there?

If he looked slowly, carefully, day-by-day, he thought, maybe he could find someone: A hero or a sucker, someone, anyone who would push the button while he went to find Penny.


	2. Second Chances

Charlie Pace had been sitting 27 rows back from the cockpit, but he was first at the baggage carousel. He was standing alone now, dead center in front of the chute and kicking absently at the metal facing between the conveyor and the floor. He kicked at it until he dented it and then he walked in small circles as others started arriving around him.

All he wanted was his guitar, and his car in long-term parking with the baggie under the tire in the trunk that contained enough heroin to get him home.

It had been a long, miserable flight even before the incident with the stewards that forced him to flush his stash. He just did manage to convince them he had a migraine and not a ferocious need for a fix. They gave him hairy-eyeball stares on the way back to his seat but that was it. Now his back hurt. His stomach hurt. His head hurt so much his hair hurt when he ran his fingers through it to push it from his eyes.

His suitcase came through first and he pulled it off the conveyor and gave it a small kick for not being his guitar, which came through next. He threw it over his shoulder and picked up the bag, turning at the same time in a blind hurry and he nearly knocked her off her feet.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry," He caught her, ditching the case in time to swing his arm around her as she regained her footing. A few people around them reacted and reached out for her with disapproving stares at him.

"I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry," Charlie forgot his pain entirely for a moment, partially out of embarrassment and partially because he could hardly breathe looking at her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Claire said it tersely. "We're all trying to get somewhere, right? Chill out, a little." She walked a few steps with her hands on her own sore back.

Then the burst of adrenalin was gone. Despite the hundred different things he wanted to say to her, Charlie left.

He took his suitcase up his driveway, punched in the security code and walked into his house. There had been more in the trunk than he'd remembered and combined with the 17 and a half hour flight it had knocked him on his ass for a while. Getting home was a blurry trip he would barely remember.

He stood in the foyer, and the living room and kitchen/family room stretched out in front of him, bright, chilly, a bit dusty and so quiet. He looked down, realized he'd brought in his suitcase and not his guitar, went back outside and stopped dead in amazement. The words "second chances" jumped to the front of his brain.

Claire was on her way down the front walk of the house that sat across and one north of his. He might not have noticed her, except that he heard huge, choking, sobbing sounds that drew his eyes that way. She was pulling a rolling suitcase, looking exhausted and stunned. She kept reaching up with one arm to wipe her eyes with her sweater as she walked. Then she reached the main sidewalk and looked around as if realizing there was no car, no taxi to get into, nothing but an empty, quiet side street in a ritzy neighborhood. No one was coming for her. She flung her suitcase down and sat on it, trying to dial 4-1-1 through raw eyes.

The shock of it all did something to him and his head cleared as if he'd just breathed pure oxygen. It was the best buzz kill he'd ever experienced. He walked across the street with his hands in his back pockets, wanting to help but afraid to freak her out, and although she was clearly enormously pregnant all he could think as he walked was that he might just chuck it all and wander the planet if she asked him to.

"What are you doing here?" He heard it coming out of his mouth and couldn't believe he'd said something so unwelcoming. She jumped, looked up, and he could see she was equally surprised to see him. Then she spoke as if they were just picking up on their conversation from the luggage carousel.

"There is no one," Claire pointed back at the house behind her. "Named Baskum living there. What the hell?" She was done the thought, her voice shaky.

"Yeah, I know," Charlie said it matter-of-factly, almost cheerfully. "It's Ian and Linda. The Mitchells. They've lived there, well…." he waved one arm, not feeling very strong on his math skills at the moment. "Since before I bought my place. That's years ago now."

He stopped. She was on the verge of crying again and he mentally kicked himself.

"Look, it seems you need to figure some things out and that's probably not going to happen on the sidewalk. Why don't you come put your feet up, use my phone, have a bite to eat," He could see she felt the need for all of that very badly and yet was far from sure about the offer. "I'm a musician with a pretty substantial following," he went on, "Or at least a substantial former following. And very few rock stars are serial killers- the list is just miniscule really. So there's that in favor of coming over."

Now she was still teary but also laughing softly, biting her thumb and looking up at him. He held out his hands to help her up.

Charlie found there wasn't much in his fridge that was still edible, but there was cheese that was fine once the outer edges were trimmed off, cans of soup in the cupboard, low fat Trisquits, tea.

"You wouldn't have any peanut butter?" Claire asked, and Charlie suddenly wished it were something he'd ever once thought to buy.

"No, sorry. I've got Vegemite, though," he said, hopeful.

"Never mind, thanks. I think I'm the only Australian who prefers peanut butter to Vegemite."

They made a meal of the found things, and he didn't ask her about the Baskums or why she was here although he had a pretty good idea. He kept it light. They exchanged names and where they grew up, their siblings or lack thereof and other niceties. By the time he set her up on the sofa with the phone and permission to call Mars if need be, it was getting dusky out.

Charlie sat out back by his pool with his guitar for half an hour, giving her some privacy, and when he went back in to check he found her stretched out on his sofa dead asleep and snoring softly.

"This is not a good sign," he said, a bit of the heart he hadn't used in a very long time in his voice, "That you clearly love my couch more than me. Although in fairness it is the size of Alaska and extremely plush."

He went to the ground floor guest room, pulled the down comforter off the bed and brought it back to her, only half covering her in case it might be too much warmth on a nice September evening. Then he went back outside with his phone to make a call. Just as he sat down by the pool again it rang in his hand, and it was Liam.

"Hey brother, yes…" Charlie rolled his jeans up, stuck his feet in the water. "Home in one piece as they say this side of the pond. Yes. Yeah…. " He sat back, rested his free hand on the cement.

"I'm not mad anymore. But you have to listen and don't hang up, okay? I was just about to call you to tell you that you have to come to L.A. and do the tour. I know you were only worried for me, and I know you're probably going to tell me I'm full of it when I say this but I'm done using. I really am."

Charlie held the phone away from his ear just a bit as Liam laughed, and told him exactly that in detail for a full minute.

"I'm serious. I met someone on the way home,"

More laughter, and Charlie sighed, waited out the next barrage of loving derision, the accusations of massive denial and co-dependency.

"It's not like that. How long did it take you to realize Karen was the one? Oh right, not a good example. You kept using even after the baby was born didn't you? But I'm serious, Liam, I'm about to go through a week of hell on earth and then I'm done. And no, you don't owe it to me to come do the tour but you have to. This is it, it's our last chance, and if we try and fail I can live with doing session work and producing crappy bands' first albums until I die of old age or despair… but I can't live with that if we don't try. And if you give it some thought, I don't think you really can either."

There was a pause that felt as big and as deep as the pool he still had his feet in, and the Liam said he'd come to L.A. to see him, if only to talk about it more and make sure he was all right. Charlie lay back on the warm cement, his eyes stinging a little, so relieved.

Second chances, he thought again as he hung up. And then he went to bed and prepared to go through hell, wondering how he'd hide the worst from her and if she would stay or go.

_To be continued…_


	3. La Mer

"I know you can hear me," the man following them through LAX shouted, and Shannon rolled her eyes, hooked her arm through Boone's and pulled him along. She knows Boone wants to stop, to apologize for her. It's not for him to apologize and even though she made this drama, she's not in the mood for it now as they're heading for airport exit and the town car home.

"All I want to know is why you sic'd security on me," their pursuer shouts, and doesn't care that people around them are stopping, turning to stare. "There's no good reason," she hears him go on, and the genuinely pained frustration in his voice only raises her impatience level. "But there is your reason. And I want to hear it."

Shannon stops dead, turns, flings Boone's arm down. He's grinning at her, glad this guy is making his point. He shrugs at her angry scowl, one eyebrow arched, mutters "You reap what you sow, Shan."

Shannon squares her shoulders and looks the guy in the eyes.

"It had nothing to do with you. I wasn't being a hater. I was showing my controlling freak of a brother that I could get anyone thrown off a plane. Him... " She's almost out of steam, both with her own rant and with this whole trip home. "Anyone. That just happened to be you. Happy?"

"Thank you," Sayid says, and she can hear he really means it; he's relieved at how tangential he was in the whole matter. "Good luck to you."

He's really saying that last bit more to Boone than to her, as he picks up his duffel bag and walks toward the baggage carousel.

The next time she sees him she's ducking into the local coffee shop on a Saturday morning for a cup to drink while she's shopping. It's been eight months, not that long but long enough and so while she's in line she keeps glancing back at his table, making sure she's not imagining it's him.

He looks sad – not dejected, more bemused. He's staring out the window that's next to his table and she can feel that he's wondering how it all ended up this way, whatever it was that ended up this way. She debates whether to just walk out and go shopping but doesn't.

"Hi," she says, and he looks up at her, his eyes blank at first and then he grimaces. "Mind if I join you for a minute?"

"Ah that's perfect," Sayid twists around in his chair, the heel of one hand going up to his forehead. "Have you already dialed 9-1-1? Is Homeland Security on the way?" He's half laughing by now, though, and so she does too, sitting next to him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't think I said that back in September," she says and he freezes with his hand still on his head, just looking at her. "I'm really, truly sorry."

"What's happened to you?" he asks. She knows it's a backhanded compliment.

"Life. And death. My wicked step-mother died suddenly, and I found out how hard you could cry for someone you thought was evil incarnate."

Sayid sits back, gestures with his shoulders for her to go on.

"I went into business with my brother. That went not well. We bought a huge sailboat, hosted tours and weekend excursions for families and couples. I loved it, he got sick of it. I still have the boat…" she pulls the top off of her coffee, drops it on the table. "He and I aren't talking. Now I'm figuring out what's next. I've lost people I didn't know I cared about and people I did," she says "It humbles you a little, losing that much. How about you, why are you staring moodily out a coffee house window?"

It takes Sayid a few seconds to answer as he's fiddling with a stirrer.

"I spent years of my life traveling the globe looking for the woman I thought was the love of my life, and I found out she can't deal with our baggage." He says. "She'll love me forever, but she's sure we'll be happier if we both set it down and walk away. Who says that, really, in real life?" He asks and she nods, grinning.

"That's lame," Shannon says, "at best."

He convinces her to reach out to Boone, and they're talking. She gets him to apply for a job reading oil contracts for multinational oil corporations. It's a bit of a slog of a job with a lot of travel involved, but it ends up making him richer than he ever thought he'd be. They are friends for months, nearly a year, until the night they're watching movies on his couch after dinner and he tips her head back into the crook of his arm and kisses her down to her toes and tells her he loves her.

"Thank you," she says, "for saying it first. I wanted to. I couldn't. Not this time."

The water's really rolling and that makes the steps up to the deck of the boat flip and flop under the balls of her feet, but Shannon has her sea legs. She glides up them comfortably. Just a drop or three of the martinis in her two hands make it over the sides of the glasses, land on her shorts and her sunburned thighs. But it's hot outside, and the drinks are cold and it all feels great.

She pads over to where Sayid is stretched out in his deck chair in his swimsuit, hands him his, slides down next to him onto her chair.

"Thank you," he says, "For insisting we have someone crew the True Love for our honeymoon trip. Doing it all ourselves seemed like a good idea to me until about an hour ago."

"We left the dock about an hour ago," she points out, sips, sets down her glass and puts on her sunglasses, laying back.

"Sing it for me," Sayid asks and she laughs, embarrassed, refusing silently, taking his left hand in her right. "I insist. If she can take it, I can take it. Sing it for me."

"That doesn't even make any sense," Shannon says, laughing, "In our situation. There are no others to be broken up about, you're being all silly and romantical," but she sees he's looking slyly sideways at her, asking it again with his eyes and she start to sing.

"_La mer, Qu'on voit danser le long des golfes clair… A des reflets d'argent," _she sings it low and soft, then louder._ "La mer, des reflet changeants.. sous la pluie…"_

_Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere, waiting for me… my lover stands on golden sands…_

They will live to be very, very old, both of them. They'll build houses for the homeless, work with the Peace Corps, spend all their excess money on things for people they'll never meet. They'll have no kids of their own, but will sponsor a hundred of them, and thrill at their every success. They'll never settle down, traveling in circles, traveling until they've seen and done it all together, until they are ready to let go and move on.

_We'll meet beyond the shore," she sings. "We'll kiss just as before. Happy we'll be, beyond the sea… and never again will I go sailing."_


	4. Sun and Jin and Keamy and Omar

"Can I get you something, Ms. Kwon," the receptionist motioned to a chair in front of the bank manager's empty desk. "A coffee, tea, some water?"

"A tea would be nice, thank you," Sun said, sitting with a small smile, setting her purse in her lap.

"Of course. Mr. Clarke will be right with you."

And he was, arriving even before the tea. She was there to move money, quite a lot of money, into new accounts with his bank. The fact that the place they were moving it from was one she created to siphon off cash from her father's company was something Mr. Clarke would never know. Her father would not even realize for weeks, and by then it was too late to do anything without revealing himself as criminal and worse yet a failure who couldn't control his own daughter.

Sun signed agreement after agreement, putting some in savings, a lot in money markets, more in bonds. And with each signature, she felt lighter and lighter until she was afraid she might float right up out of the chair.

Twenty hours earlier, she and her husband had arrived at LAX, checked into their hotel and immediately went to look for her father's business associate, the one Jin had been sent to pay respects to. Jin nervously cupped the box holding the Rolex watch, the gift from Mr. Paik, and gripped her hand in his other just a little too tightly. She wanted to shake it off, but that wasn't an option. She looked up at Jin's hard eyes as they walked along and he didn't even notice her gaze.

She felt it then: She'd made a huge mistake at the Sydney Airport. She had her chance to get away, and she'd let sentiment stop her, sentiment and a silly flower given with half of a hard heart. Something clicked, and she knew if she got another chance it wouldn't happen again.

Then they were there knocking on the door, which opened to reveal Mr. Paik's associate, a tall, striking man, muscular, cropped hair, chilly blue eyes and a smile that was twisting down at one corner in confusion as he looked at them.

"You must be Mr. Kwon. I'm Martin Keamy. Come in, please…."

Sun had felt that something was wrong immediately though she couldn't have said what at first. Jin had prepared just a few words, practiced them over and over and delivered them now, handing Keamy the watch with both hands.

"A gift, with thanks, from Mr. Paik."

Keamy took the box, shook his hand.

"Thank you. You speak English?" He asked, as if it were a surprise and Sun felt her nerves sing a little at the question, the way it was asked, the confusion lingering on his face.

"No, no English." Jin said, and Keamy relaxed, smiled, a little too much, Sun thought.

"Omar," Keamy's head didn't move, but his eyes looked back. "Could you get in here," he led Jin and Sun to two chairs around a small dining table in the corner of the suite. "And help our visitors order some lunch?" He handed Jin a hotel menu, and insisted with a wave and a wrinkle of his forehead when Jin started to decline.

"What the hell?" Omar said simply, stepping out of the adjoining room, looking at Sun and Jin like they had two heads. "Daddy didn't say his little girl would be showing up."

"Yeah, that's kind of the problem we're faced with," Keamy said, his voice and eyes still smiling, "He sure as fuck didn't pay us enough to take care of the both of them. Watch them, stall by getting some food going on up here, and I'll call him. He's going to have to triple it for me to shoot her in the head, too."

"Like you're so delicate about killing a woman," Omar said, smiling at Sun, pointing to the items on the menu to encourage her to choose something. She looked down, pointed back randomly at a couple of things, purposely picking food that wouldn't go well together. She hoped they couldn't see she was having trouble breathing normally.

"He doesn't know that," Keamy said, pulled out his cell phone and walked into the next room.

"Mwuh?" Jin said to Sun, a look of concern on his face. "What?" It was a husband noticing the distress his wife was doing so well to hide from strangers.

"Listen to me, they're going to kill us," She said it back in Korean with a casual smile and a lilt in her voice, like she was saying that it was a beautiful day and wasn't it nice to be in L.A.? "Smile, don't frown. He just said my father hired them to kill you. Now he wants more money to kill us both."

Omar hadn't paid attention when she started talking, but the more she went on the more his eyes showed distrust, a little cold fear. Sun smiled up at him, pointed to the menu with a questioning shrug, like 'weren't you going to order food?'

Omar took the menu, turned to walk to the hotel phone and as he did Jin bolted up at a sharp angle and head-butted him hard, knocking the wind out of his lungs and a gun with a silencer on it out of his pocket. The two of them went for it, but Sun kicked it away, and as they wrestled and grunted and threw punches, struggling to get to it, she darted around them, grabbed it and shot Omar almost point blank in the head.

He fell, blood spattering the floor and Jin. Sun only froze for half a second, then looked up and fired over and over again as Keamy walked out of the bedroom. She hit him three times in the neck and chest, and he fell where he stood. Sun walked over and took the cell phone that had fallen from his hands, put it in her purse.

Jin was still half crouched over Omar, looking up at Sun with complete shock on his face. He knew she had never held a gun in her life. He felt like they were in some sort of a terrible dream, and somewhere in the back of his mind he was also feeling a fact that he couldn't have even put into words yet, the fact that they could never go back to a day when he hadn't seen his wife shoot two men dead.

"You speak English?" he asked, and a sound of sad disgust was what he got in return.

"Don't you think we have bigger things to worry about right now?"

Jin had cleaned himself off, and then cleaned the bathroom. He took the gun, rearranged the chairs to avoid the suggestion they'd been sat in lately. He took the Rolex with them. He'd been through this before.

He looked for security cameras in the hall, found none, and said they were lucky – it looked like the hotel didn't bother watching every hall. He said they should leave for a bit, but not actually check out for a few days until things calmed down.

Twenty minutes later, they were in their room, deciding where to go. Jin was staring at her and Sun realized she saw no gratitude, no relief, just a disappointed anger she'd been living with for nearly two years now.

"Why did you learn English?" He was pacing, picking things up and then putting them down randomly. She knew him, saw he was trying to control his temper.

"Because I'm leaving you," she said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jin turned, waved a hand back at her as he walked toward the bathroom. "You're my wife. You go where I go. What do you think you're going to do, start over in a place you don't know, where no one knows you? How do you think you'll manage that?"

Sun walked slowly toward him, reached out and slid her arms around his waist, set her head against his shoulder. He stopped, mistaking the gesture for apology. She took a deep breath, pulled the gun from his pocket and slammed the handle of it into the back of his head so hard he nearly flew left, fell and was out cold.

Sun cried as she stood there, cried as she wiped the gun clean and set it on the nightstand, cried as she took a few things, jammed them in a tote bag. Then she looked back at him and she stopped crying. He would be okay. If he ever cried over her, it wouldn't be anytime soon. There might be a day for sentiment between them again—but that day wasn't today.

Then she took several thousand dollars in cash out of her purse, set it on the nightstand near the gun and walked out to the hotel cabstand. She grabbed a taxi to LAX where she bought a plane ticket to New York, where she knew no one and no one knew her.

"All set," the bank manager handed her the last of her paperwork, shook her hand. "If there's anything we can do to assist you with your investments at any time, we're here to help."

Sun thanked him, and walked out of the bank onto the corner of West 60th Street and Columbus Avenue. She decided to skip the cab and headed toward her hotel. As she did, she thought about what she might do with all that lovely Paik Industries cash.

"An art gallery," she thought, "Nothing huge, nothing flashy that'll attract too much attention to me. Just another little gallery where people have a chance to show their work, to make some money, get a start. To change their lives."

The sky was blue, the breeze was light and the streets were full of people walking fast and going places. It was the most perfect September day, and just for a moment all Sun could feel was the joy of the many possibilities ahead.


	5. Goodbye, Hello

**Forest Lawn Cemetery**

**Los Angeles**

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…" the minister read the 23rd Psalm over the grave. Jack listened, one arm around his mother's shoulder, his eyes scanning the crowd of mourners with their heads down. They sure were all dressed up for the event. That struck him: The formal suits, the women in dresses and hats, wearing gloves. And then there was the sheer number of people: Seventy at least here at the cemetery and over two hundred and fifty people at the church before that – familiar faces from the hospital, his childhood, his college years, friends of his parents, along with faces he'd never seen before and probably wouldn't ever see again.

He wondered why it was making him anxious instead of humbled for his father. Then it hit him: They all knew. They knew how he had died, and they knew that some – maybe not all, but some people- thought he was at least partly to blame for it.

That's when he decided he wouldn't be working at St. Sebastian much longer.

"Do you think you'll get married again?" Margo Shephard asked as they were walking back to his car and Jack stopped flat, looked at her, started walking again.

"Why would you ask me that now, mom?"

"All you have left is me, my parents, your grandpa Ray. A few cousins you haven't seen in twenty years," she said, not at all put off by his scowl. "It's not much of a family. What?"

She asked the 'what' as he shook his head.

"A girl on my flight home yesterday said the same thing. I was helping her out after we hit turbulence and she said she didn't have much of a family, never had. It stuck with me."

"Your plane hit turbulence?"

"It was nothing," Jack said, "Well, not nothing but not a huge deal either."

"Maybe you should have asked her out?"

"I highly doubt you'd approve," He looked down at her with the edge of a grin. "She was about eight and a half months pregnant."

"Picky," Margo said under her breath, and Jack laughed loudly, sharply. Several of the other mourners were walking close by them and head after head turned at the sight of the widow and the son laughing on their way home from the gravesite. Jack thought to himself that this would be his fault in their eyes, too, and then he thought, 'screw them.'

They were at his Jeep now.

"We could cancel, you know," Jack said. "I can take you home, and we can see his lawyer next week, read the will then."

"No," Margo said, walking to the passenger's side door. "Let's get it all over with today."

"Amen to that," Jack said.

**Bel Air**

**Charlie's House**

"I can't go home," Claire stood in his doorway, sobbing. Her suitcase sat askew, a few steps behind her on the lawn. The taxi she'd taken back to his place was just stopping at the corner after dropping her off. "I am so screwed. I don't even know if my insurance works here, or where I'm going to go… I don't know what to do?"

Charlie had never felt so overjoyed and horrified at the exact same moment. He was overjoyed because she'd left him the morning after she'd arrived, determined to fly home and have her baby in Australia now that the adoptive parents were out of the picture. That had broken his heart a little, or a lot, really, if he admitted it to himself. And now, here she was, back. So, joy.

He was horrified because he'd been able to keep a semblance of wellness about him until she'd gone but only that long. As soon as she was out the door, he'd fallen into a shaking, sweating, jittery mess as heroin withdrawal symptoms started having their way with every part of his body and brain. That had been four hours ago. He knew things would only get worse for him, not better, for days, maybe a week or more– but for an over-optimistically hopeful second now he hoped maybe she wouldn't notice.

"Oh my God," Claire was still snuffling, but he could feel she was also clearly horrified at the sight of him, red-faced, damp, shaking with cold despite the warm day and the sweat suit he was wearing. "What's happened to you?"

"Allergies," Charlie said, putting an arm around her and drawing her into the house. "Or a cold. From the plane, the canned air, maybe? Don't worry about me right now. Why are you screwed, love?"

"Airlines won't let you fly after thirty-six weeks of pregnancy," she said, handing him a sheaf of blue and green paperwork she'd been given at the airport. "Won't let you fly… without an okay from a doctor that I'm never going to get. Did you know this?"

"Um, well," Charlie did his best to focus, to read it, but it was all too much at once. "No. I've never heard that. It's possible," he handed her the paper back, "and this is me being totally honest with you, It's possible I've got a kid or two out there, but I don't know much about the process at all, really. I've certainly never been around for the part you're going through."

He stopped and held her head to his shoulder and mustered all the sincerity he felt run through him, right alongside his misery, into his voice. He prayed she'd really hear it.

"But I promise, Claire, I'll stick right with you for every second of it. Don't worry about insurance or where to go. You can stay here. I've got your back."

There was a little, calm moment where Claire snuffled but didn't say anything, and he could feel that she believed him.

"You don't have a cold, do you?" Claire asked, running her fingers under her eyes, staring up at him, demanding the truth until he shook his head.

"I was a heroin addict," he said, "Until yesterday. It's going to get worse, but then it'll get better. And my brother's on the way," he said it like it was the cavalry coming. "It won't all be on you to help me."

"Oh God," Claire walked away from him, but she walked to his sofa and not out the door, which was a good sign. "You're a junkie and I'm having a baby in a strange country in about thirty days."

"Here's one way to look at it," Charlie said. "Things can't get much worse for us."

Claire started laughing, a little hysterically maybe, but he knew they would be okay together– at least for now.

**Margo Shephard's attorney's office**

**Century City, L.A.**

"There's really nothing in the will you need to hear about, aside from this," Margo's lawyer set down a shoe-box sized object and a piece of paper on the desk next to her. "But I'm guessing this will take some walking through…"

Margo flipped open the music box, heard the notes of "Catch a Falling Star" coming from it and her heart fell. As entirely unsentimental as her husband had seemed to be over the decades, he had always had a soft spot for this song. She had always wondered why.

"What does this have to do with anything?" Jack asked. 

"He left this," the attorney tapped the back of the music box, "And a quarter of a million dollars to a woman named Claire Littleton."

Margo didn't move. Jack was on his feet, one hand to his forehead, walking in circles.

"Let me guess," Margo smiled up at him, a finger still tracing its way around the music box. "The girl on the plane? Was her name Claire?"

Jack nodded.

"Yeah," He said. "Mom, what the hell? What are the odds?"

"I guess your family just got a little less small," Margo said.


	6. Watch out what you wish for

**LAX**

**LA Roadhouse hotel bar**

**1.5 hours after Oceanic 815 landed**

"So. Is it your husband, your boyfriend, or a lawman? The guy you're hiding from…" Kate was surprised to finally hear him speak, at how low his voice turned out to be and how it rolled over to her from across the bar and slid into her ears: Southern accent, as smooth as it was deep, a little music in it.

It had taken half an hour for him to honor her with those few words, not that she'd done anything to encourage him. She'd noticed him the second she walked in but she decided just as fast that he looked too stubborn to be bent to her needs and still too clearly pissed off at the world to make good company.

"What makes you so sure I'm running from anyone?" Kate fiddled with her straw, eyes firmly down. He was a dozen feet away but they were the only two customers at the airport hotel bar now. The bartender had headed for the kitchen a while ago.

"For starters, there are dozens of restaurants and vending machines in a half block radius," Sawyer observed. "But you're sitting here in a pretty miserable imitation of a pub, one that smells like old popcorn and fish and chips, drinking a Coke."

"It's a root beer," Kate said.

"Where I'm from, they're all a Coke," Sawyer said. "Not the point."

"Well excuse me," she said.

"If you were looking for 'me time,'" Sawyer leaned back, thinking out loud now for his own entertainment as much as to answer her, "You'd probably be sitting by the pool, 'cause it's sunny out. But you're not. You are here. Hiding from someone."

"Why wouldn't I just get a room?" She asked, her chin up. She couldn't resist challenging him.

"Because you're out of money," he said it so fast, didn't even need two seconds to think about it, and he knew he was right by the way her face fell.

"Whatever fix you're in, you spent the last of your cash getting to this point and now you're going over your sadly limited options in your head. I've been listening to the gears grinding in your skull for twenty minutes, the smoke's practically coming out of your ears."

She thought about not answering, about getting up and walking out, but then she slid around the corner of the bar and took the seat next to him.

"Lawman," she said softly, still not looking him in the eyes, poking one end of the straw in her hands into the other to make a triangle. It was like it hurt her to admit it.

"Ah ha. So what did you do…." He asked, squinting, and she knew from the way his voice went down at the end that he was asking her name.

"Audrey."

"What did you do, Audrey?"

"Depends who you ask," Kate said. "I freed my mom from the guy who would've killed her, eventually. I kept myself out of jail. I fought back when I had to. When I was cornered."

"And what would the prosecutors for the great state of wherever-this-happened tell me if I asked them the same question?" he flashed her an actual smile for the first time since she'd seen him and she thought he must be in sales because that smile could sell a thing or two all by itself.

Kate opened her mouth to say something back, then stopped and thought it over.

"How about we not get into specifics right away? If I tell you, I don't think you'll let me travel with you for a couple of days, and I need that. They're looking for a single white female, and If I change my hair, do the sunglasses, hang on your arm, maybe they'll look right past me and I can get away. I have to get away from here…"

He'd been sipping on his drink as she talked, looking more amused by the second and now he cut her off.

"How do you know I'm traveling anywhere? Maybe I work in this bar, maybe I live in the damned hotel…"

"'Cause I saw you on the plane," Kate said. "And then I saw you here. And you're not from L.A., nothing about you says L.A."

"I'll take that as a compliment, sunshine."

"You're probably driving east – tonight, tomorrow? Right?"

"Congratulations you're very observant," he jumped in again. "And you size things up fast: Handy skills to have. But what's in it for me? I don't do anything for free or to be nice. Best for me to be clear on that."

He was looking her up and down slowly as he finished the thought, and Kate's face flushed more with every word out of his mouth. Then she was out of her chair and walking out the door fast as the bartender walked back in. She heard Sawyer chuckling behind her.

"I think she took something I asked her in entirely the wrong way," Sawyer explained, still laughing under his breath, knowing he'd given her every reason to. He pointed to his glass. "Fill 'er up."

The bartender had barely finished pouring, though, when Sawyer stood, sighing, shaking his head and reaching for his jacket pocket.

"Nothing good can come from this," Sawyer said.

"Probably not," the bartender said, sweeping the glass away, waving him off from paying for it.

"Thanks," Sawyer nodded, put his wallet back and headed Kate's way.

**Reyes Household**

**L.A.**

"Surprise!" Forty-two people yelled as Carmen Reyes walked out to her patio, her eyes shut, her husband David leading her in by one hand. She scanned the back yard full of friends, a bit stunned, enjoying the happy noise they made. She was glad to see every one of them but her eyes searched the crowd for one.

Then she saw Hugo hanging out by the bar, arms folded, watching with a grin while everyone else took the chance to run up, to say 'happy birthday' first. He looked happy. Content. He looked well.

Carmen broke out crying, wiping her eyes, telling everyone it was about the party and the surprise and 'oh, I can't believe you're here, too!' David knew better and she felt it, his arms around her shoulders, squeezing.

They didn't get a chance to talk until Hurley was handing out slices of cake. Carmen walked up to him and pinched his cheek so hard he said, "Aww, mahm. Stop it!"

"What happened in Australia, baby?" she took the slice of cake he offered.

"I figured some things out. I'm not giving away the money. And I'm going to run my own companies," Hurley saw loving doubt in her eyes for a second, but not in his dad's and it surprised him to find it mattered to him. "I'm going to figure out how, go to business school if I have to. I can do this."

"Of course you can," David said. "So what convinced you?"

"Not what, who: A woman in the Outback with one leg and a story about a jar full of jellybeans," Hurley said, and then he laughed and laughed at the looks on their faces.

**LA Roadhouse hotel lobby**

**Two hours after Oceanic 815 landed**

Sawyer was only a few steps out of the pub when he saw her in a corner of the lobby near the side entrance to the kitchen, some skinny, greasy punk kid pushing her left arm half behind her back, leaning in over her, and from the few words he heard in the next seconds it was clear he was trying to blackmail her.

"Not two minutes," Sawyer muttered to himself. "You couldn't go two minutes without getting yourself in trouble. I do not need this…"

Then he revved himself up, got in character, charged over and pushed the punk clear of Kate and almost off of his feet. Sawyer grabbed her by one wrist, twisting hard enough to get a gasp and a groan of pain out of her.

"What the goddam HELL did I tell you?" he shouted it at her, and Kate didn't have to act at flinching. Eyes from around the lobby darted over toward them and away again as he started yanking her toward the elevators. "I THINK I told you to go straight to the room. You hear something different?"

The punk wasn't properly convinced yet, he was nearly in Sawyer's face as they all marched to the elevators in a grim little group.

"I know what I saw, I know my boss helped you get rid of the bracelets you were wearing and I saw you pay him. I'm not leaving until you pay me too…" the punk stood still then, as Sawyer stopped, towered over him, glowering.

"Do you like your bones in the exact order and position they are in now?" Sawyer asked it in a growl, his voice tight as a knot, "Or would you like me to rearrange some them for you?"

The kid raised both hands to signal defeat and he slunk away.

"You oversold that a little, didn't you?" Kate asked, rubbing her sore wrist.

"You rather I undersold it?" Sawyer asked, walking toward the elevators, glancing around subtly to be sure everyone else had stopped watching them. "Where did he know you from?"

"There's a full service garage here at the airport for the cabs," Kate said, still massaging her wrist, holding it up to him, and he saw red cuts and grooves there now, marks he definitely hadn't made. "They had a punch press."

"Damn," Sawyer breathed. "Someone wanted you behind bars bad enough to chase you all the way to Australia and drag you back, cuffed all the way? No wonder you didn't want to get into specifics."

Kate looked up at him, her eyes hard, defensive but not apologetic. Sawyer sighed deeply, and she could feel that he was debating whether to tell her 'goodbye and good luck.'

"Let's get the hell out of this lobby," he said, punching the up button. "Before you get us both busted somehow."

**Next Day – 9am**

**Box****2 ****Box Company**

**Tustin, California**

Hurley wasn't vain about his hair, he didn't see it as a fashion statement, in fact he seldom gave his curls much thought except when a dry wind blew them right in his face and made a simple walk from a car to a building a hundred yards away a challenge.

He had ducked his head down, was pressing forward, about to push them out of his eyes when he heard it.

"Woaaah! Heads up, son!"

He stopped flat and looked up to find himself toes-to-tires with a guy in a wheel chair. The guy was more amused than offended or pissed off, and Hurley thought that probably had to do with the fact that the wind was at his back and he had no hair to get blown around at all. Then he decided to appreciate the fact that the guy was smiling up at him, not shouting for him to watch where the hell he was going.

"Sorry," Hurley said softly, tugging at the tie that still felt like a noose around his neck. "I'm a little out of it. Kind of nervous."

"Going in for a job interview?" John Locke asked. "Good luck."

"Thanks, but not so much," Hurley said. "I'm going for a tour of the factory. Well, excuse me for nearly running you over, I guess I'll…" he was ready to walk when he noticed it, what the guy was carting along with him. "That's kind of ironic. You're leaving a box company with a box on your lap. Did you get fired?"

"Nooo, I did not get fired. I quit," Hurley saw a little fire in his eyes now, his hands flexing on the arms of his chair as he shook his head, clearly re-living the happy moment when he'd told someone inside the factory that he was out of there. "Life is too short to spend it kowtowing to a creep like Randy Nations."

Locke looked up in surprise as Hurley snorted, nodded.

"Actually, I apologize that you… that anyone has to work for him at all. But I feel kind of guilty about him, like I owe the douchebag something. I almost got him hit by a meteorite."

There was a pause while his words were processed and then Locke threw back his head and laughed out loud.

"You're Randy's boss? You're Hugo Reyes, the mysterious lottery millionaire?"

"What's so funny about that?" Hugo asked, ready to assume a dozen different slights.

"You look like you're about nineteen," Locke shrugged. "That's all."

"Oh," Hugo shrugged, smiling, glad there was nothing more insulting than that behind the laughter. "I'm a little older than people tend to think I am. I'm also looking to start running my own companies and I kind of need some help. Okay, I need a lot of help. What's your background?"

Locke looked at him, shook his head and relaxed back into his chair, shrugging.

"I've managed in retail," he said after awhile, sounding confused at giving out his resume verbally in the box company parking lot. "I worked for an appraiser. I've been in finance here for nearly ten years now…"

"You must have something in the pension fund, then," Hurley said. "Seems a shame to walk out, stop building on it. Maybe you could be my office manager, come work for me in L.A. and give me advice, help me get my footing."

"Why the would you hire me just like that? You don't even know my name." Now it was Locke who sounded a little annoyed, like maybe it was pity, about the chair and nothing more. 

"Because I feel like I can trust you," Hurley said, "I'm going with my gut. Besides, if you've worked here ten years you can't be crooked or a screw up or my HR people would know, right?"

Locke's chin was in his hand, and he looked embarrassed at his own outburst.

"Guess you're right about that."

"Let's say it's a temporary appointment," Hurley said, "For one year, and then it's permanent if we both think it's working. Then I don't have to waste any more time looking for help, and you don't have to go job hunting tomorrow. Deal?"

"Deal, Mr. Reyes. Thank you."

"Hurley," he said. "Oh God, please call me Hurley. I may not be nineteen anymore, but I'm not ready for that, yet, dude."

**Bel Air**

**Charlie's House**

Claire was pulling groceries out of the trunk of Charlie's car when she saw someone at the front door, waving, headed her way. He was tall, thin to the point of skinny with shaggy hair. It was 80 degrees out but she noticed he was wearing corduroys and a pullover sweater, beat up sneakers.

"You must be Claire," he had his hands in his pockets as he walked, pulling one out to shake hers and she thought he looked shy, more reserved than Charlie.

"Hi… Liam, right? How was the flight?"

"Hellaciously long," he said, grabbing all the grocery bags, shaking his head when she offered to help. "Fine otherwise. "Got in an hour ago. Charlie's told me all about you, I thought he was exaggerating. Oh," he saw her looking up at him, squinting, clearly wondering what that meant exactly. "It's just, sorry if this sounds funny, but you seem lovely. Nice. Real. You're clearly not a groupie."

Claire laughed out loud at that last bit as Liam carried the bags to the kitchen counter and she started putting things away.

"Honestly," she said, "I'm not much into music. I had to look up your band. Sorry."

"No insult taken. I wish I hadn't heard of us," She looked up, saw he was pacing a bit, hands back in the pockets. "Charlie thinks we should go on this tour. That's why he won't go to hospital, if he does word probably gets out and the tour gets cancelled…"

Liam's eyes were on the floor, but Claire could see how bothered he was, feel how worried he must be to just blurt it out at her. It hit her he'd only just recently seen Charlie in his current state and she found she had to fight the urge to walk over and hug him, tell him to take it a day at a time that's all there was to be done right now.

"You're a good brother," she kept it at that, smiled over at him and he stopped walking, looked up at the ceiling, shrugging.

"Haven't always been."

"I always wished I had a brother," Claire said, to herself as much as him. She shut the door to the fridge, then, taking a seat at the kitchen table, rubbing her tired back. "Someone to watch out for me, who would fly half way around the world to be there if I needed help. How's he doing?"

"Not great," Liam said, joining her. "About what you'd expect."

"I'm sorry," Claire tried to think how to word it. "I've never known anyone who's gone through… this."

"Ah, of course," he was sitting sideways, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor again. "I've been through two rounds of it, full out. "

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," he said, and Claire blushed a little in embarrassment at the way he looked at her then, like he'd picked up that she had underlying opinions about the 'kind' of people who have addictions. "It's painful. Not pretty. But he's not so bad off that I'm ready to insist on an ambulance yet, thank God. He was asleep when I heard you drive up," Liam looked at his watch. "I should go check on him…"

"Of course," Claire got up. "If you need me, you'll find me on the couch. I'm beat, and the baby's decided it's time to play 'kick mommy really hard' for awhile."

Liam took her arm, helped her toward the living room.

"I'd go up with you," Claire said, "But I get the feeling he wants to see me as little as possible until the worst is over."

"You're right on, there," Liam said. "He's ordered me to make sure you stay down here."

Liam didn't come back for over an hour, and when he did Claire saw him heading for the basement laundry room, a load of towels and sheets in a basket.

When he came back up he found her staring at her cell phone, looking confused.

"Do you know L.A. much, in terms of driving it?" she asked.

"Sort of," Liam said, "I've been a few times, I get around okay. You need to go somewhere now?"

"No, tomorrow," Claire said. "A law office. Apparently, my father died."

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. In Australia?"

"No…" she glanced from him to the phone and back. "He lived here. Apparently he passed last week. I barely knew him. Barely knew him, but I'm in his will. And here's the even weirder thing," she stopped, "Sorry to share so much, you barely know me but I have no one else to talk through this with and it's freaking me out a little."

"No worries," Liam sat in the overstuffed leather chair next to the couch.

"I always just kind of knew why he wasn't in our lives much, I felt he had a family here. But now there are going to be faces and names, and apparently… I have a brother. I was just wishing for one, wasn't I? Like, an hour ago. And now I have one. Half a one anyway. And he and his mom want to meet me. Asked if they can be there when I talk with the attorneys tomorrow."

"Well that's great, isn't it," Liam said. "They must be okay sorts if they want to get to know you."

"Damn," Claire said, "I hope so. Talk about 'watch out what you wish for…'"


	7. You act like you've never had love

**Margo Shephard's attorney's office**

**Century City, L.A.**

**9am**

"Did you know about her, mom?" Jack asked as he and Margo headed from the parking lot toward the office tower. "About Claire?"

The question had hit him at the reading of the will, but there were other things to discuss and arrange then. He expected a quick no, maybe even some annoyance from her but instead she breathed an almost silent laugh that sent a cold jolt through him.

"I've been asking myself the same thing," she looked up and saw shock in his eyes. "I knew not all of those conventions and seminars your father traveled for were actually seminars and conventions. I guessed he was still going to see Carole occasionally…"

"Her mother? Carole Littleton. It sounds familiar now."

Margo nodded, stopped walking.

"She was a colleague of his, worked in the lab at the hospital for several years. You were twelve when it all blew up. I tried to make sure we spared you the drama. She moved back to Australia in 1981. How old is Claire, would you say?"

"Early twenties," Jack said, "Twenty-three, four, tops."

"Well there you go. I knew he never truly loved Carole," Margo started walking again. "I should have guessed he was traveling to see someone else – someone he did love. To have a daughter there, and to not be part of her life: It must have hurt him tremendously," Her voice was far away now. "He would have wanted to be there for her like he was for you, I know he would."

It was Jack who had stopped now, amazed, shaking his head.

"Seriously, mom, it's like you and I lived in two different homes all those years."

"Jack," she reached up, turned his face to hers. "I doubt we're going to resolve your issues with your dad here in the parking lot. Maybe we should focus on how Claire's probably feeling right now?"

That got a rueful smile and a nod out of him.

"You're right," he said. "Let's go see if she's interested in your invitation to join our screwed up family."

**LAX**

**LA Roadhouse hotel**

"Don't even think about it," Sawyer's voice was muffled, thick with sleep, one arm flung over the pillow he'd buried his head under. He was stretched out on the sofa in the sunken living area off the kitchenette, motionless the whole time Kate got ready. She hadn't heard so much as a snore or a snuffle as she dressed, looked for paper and a pen, wrote him a note. But the second she picked up his keys….

"I'm not running," she said, sliding the note under the edge of the pillow. "Not stealing your car. Thought I'd let you sleep while I go get myself some things."

He flipped on his back, jammed the pillow under his head, grinning, and slowly raised his hand to crumple the note without reading it.

"How stupid do you think I am?"

"I don't think you're stupid at all," Kate pulled her hair into a knot, looking for her sunglasses. "Kind of wish you were, you'd be easier to manage."

"Good one," he said, "You managing me. Not likely, Freckles," He stood now, headed for the bathroom in his boxers. He pulled one arm and then the other back over his shoulder as he walked, gasping happily as he got a crack and a pop out of each joint. The utter lack of any self-consciousness was stunning, never mind the show she was getting and Kate's eyes went from him to the ceiling and back, then to the floor when she saw he'd caught her staring.

"Give me a few to get ready, okay?" He shot her a look and she flushed. "Then we'll get breakfast and pick you up some new duds. We should hit the road today, too."

He shut the door and Kate went to the couch, sat and flipped the keys onto the coffee table. She was sitting on the blanket he'd been wrapped in and it hit her that it was still warm. She pushed it away to one side, sat staring at it.

"Damn," she muttered.

They'd both been exhausted from the flight and the close call in the lobby when they'd hit his room last night. Kate ordered food while he pulled some things out of his suitcase and then they'd sat in the living area talking, him sprawled on the couch, her across from him on a chair, both dancing around who they were.

She didn't want to tell him what she'd done to get arrested. He didn't want to talk about why he'd been in Australia. They both knew they had more reasons to go in different directions than they had to stick together.

"Look, I know you're not crazy about the idea of learning to grift, but I think the only way this works," Sawyer finally said, "Is if we're in it to make money together. You learn something new from me every day about how to separate people from their cash. I get eighty percent of everything we take and I cover our expenses…"

"Eighty percent?" She almost shouted it, but he didn't get angry, just held a hand up to ask her to listen.

"Here's a short list of the things you're not considering. First, I'm taking on a big risk: You get caught and I probably get busted, too, just for helping you. Plus, I've got all the skills here in terms of making us money. Right now all you are is an extra set of eyes and hands, and a pretty distraction while I'm working a mark. Believe me, we'll make enough to build you a bank roll," he shrugged, "And if you get good enough, we can renegotiate the rate."

"Well aren't you all business?" She was still looking put off, but he knew she'd take the deal. "Fine. But I won't be in your hair long enough to renegotiate anything. A week, ten days and I'll be gone."

"What's the rush?" He'd asked it with a challenging glint in his eye. "You got something better to run off to?"

"No, sadly," she said. "But don't take that as an insult. We're just in business, right?"

"Right," he said.

Now he was practically bouncing out of the bathroom, wearing jeans, buttoning up a black shirt, in a far better mood this morning after sleep and the application of hot water.

"Ready to go Freckles?"

"Ready," she picked up the keys, tossed them across the room to him, looked for her purse. "But that's the second time you've called me that. Why?"

"Because you have them. Lots: Little red and brown freckles. Are you trying to suck the air out of your new knick name?" He jammed his sunglasses on top of his head, felt his hip, making sure he had his wallet.

"No, I mean why call me a knick name at all if this is business? Maybe call me by my actual name?"

"Aw, okay, Audrey," he drew it out into about five syllables, making it clear he knew it was an alias, mocking her hard enough to get a laugh out of her as she walked by him into the hall. "But just because it's work don't mean we can't have some damn fun. Let's have some damn fun, please, God…"

He could see her working through a thought as they waited for the elevator.

"One thing, Sawyer, my name isn't Audrey. It's Kate. Kate Austen." she looked him in the eyes and he saw sincerity in them, but also how painful it was for her to give that little bit up, to be more vulnerable to him than she'd been a second before.

He flinched microscopically on her behalf before he could catch himself, watching her fidgeting. Then she saw him really smile for the first time, no grin, no leer, almost humbled at her investment in their shared endeavor. She had to look away.

"Okay. C'mon, Kate, let's get this day going."

**Downtown L.A.**

**10am**

"Welcome to ….work!" Hurley was waiting at the elevator to cheer John Locke as he rolled into their eighth floor office space but his face fell as he heard the greeting come out of his own mouth. "That was lame, man, sorry. Even if you're psyched, who wants to hear 'welcome to work'? I need a corporate name. That's your first job. I've been thinking of a few – 'Hugo-ocity' maybe, or 'Hurley, Inc.' but they sound lame to me, too. I don't know…."

John was laughing softly, reached out to accept the handshake Hurley offered.

"I'll get on that today, Hugo," he said.

"Great. And I need a list of other people to hire. Like, do you need an office manager? Do I? How's our CFO seem, does he have a clue? Is the general manager a good guy or a total ass? Those are your first two jobs- a company name, and size up the whole people landscape for me, okay?"

They were walking down the hall as they talked, and Hurley pointed him into an office. John went in and saw a large window, low-slung shelving all around the room, an adjustable desk that looked like it had been built by NASA, perfect for setting any way he needed it set. He stopped rolling a few feet short of it, his chin in one hand. It took Hurley a second to realize the sight had affected John.

"Hugo, I'm still not sure what I've done to deserve this," he said. "We've had two conversations totaling a minute and a half."

"Oh, I totally checked you out with HR after we met," Hurley said, paused when it hit him that wasn't enough for John. "Listen, I have three people I trust: My parents and my lawyer. None of them is in business or knows what's best for Hugo, Inc. or whatever the hell we name ourselves. You've put in a decade here and shared some good ideas and gotten zero recognition," Hurley waved around the room. "So why are you fighting this?"

John looked away, out the window of his new office and back at him. It struck him that this wasn't about a random favor: Hugo had likely felt a little bit under-appreciated, bordering on useless for years, too.

"Good question, Hugo. I'll give you my best and we'll see how it goes, okay?"

"Perfect," Hurley waved him back out in the hall. "Let's go meet everyone and look for the coffee room. I'm still running on fumes, I'm jet lagged from a trip I just got back from…"

"Me too," John said, "I was only home from Australia a few hours when I quit… well, almost quit working here."

"Seriously?" Hurley stopped, looked at him. "Did you fly home Tuesday?"

"Yeah," John said, "Oceanic. You?"

"Yup," Hurley said. "Dude, that is odd. Don't you think?"

"Odd, yes," John said, finding the coffee room, taking a sharp right into it. "But a coincidence signifying nothing more, I'm sure. So how'd you like Australia?"

"I was in the Outback, man," Hurley said. "It was dry. Huge and empty. I'm glad to be home."

"Yeah," John said, "I am, too, I guess…."

**Margo Shephard's attorney's office**

Their lawyer was waiting for them steps inside the offices, looking frazzled.

"We've already gone over the details of the will," he said. "It only seems to have… agitated her."

"Huh," Margo said. "I would think a quarter of a million dollars would be good news to just about anyone."

Jack knew she didn't care about the money. That's most of what made him have to bite back a laugh.

"I think I know where Claire's coming from," he said.

"Do you?"

"Yeah," he gestured to ask their lawyer where they should be walking, and they followed. "I'm guessing she's sitting there wishing she'd had more of his time and less of his cash. Luckily, I can fix that misapprehension on her part."

"Jack…" Margo's voice was a warning.

They walked in to see Claire sitting staring out a window. She turned, her face a dark, pretty thundercloud. Margo saw a sad and annoyed child. Jack saw a girl who was digesting a hurt she wasn't sure she'd ever really get past. It hit him in the gut because, once again, he knew exactly where she was coming from.

Then he stood there watching her recognize him.

"You…." She leaned forward. "From the plane here? You're my brother?"

Jack pulled a chair up to the window across from her. Margo sat back on the sofa nearby, gave them space.

"Fair warning, Claire: I have absolutely no idea how to do this, what it's about," Jack said. "I'm sure I'll screw it up quickly and on a regular basis, so… sorry in advance for being a fuck up."

Claire looked dumbfounded, then broke out laughing and crying at the same time.

"Great," she said. "Thanks. Just you wait until you hear the story of my life, though. Bet I can make you run screaming…"

"Or," Jack looked straight into her eyes, shrugging, "What if we end up being the only two people who can actually help each other?"

Claire stopped laughing, sat back, watching him, nodding.

"Yeah," she said. "There's that, isn't there? What if?"


	8. Not in Portland

Back to the main story in a moment - but this fraught little angsty tale has been rumbling around, asking me to be written for awhile. And yes, we'll be seeing them again 'cause you can't have a LOST story without Richard…

**New York  
>Sixth Avenue<br>November, 2007**

She's barely down the steps of her hotel, turning left on Sixth Avenue and headed for her day's work when she sees him: Black hair and leather bomber jacket, dark dress pants. His hands are in his pockets and his head is down against the heavy snowflakes the wind is pushing around.

"Richard!" He'd been a third of a block away, now it's more like half a block. He's walking hard, intent on where he's going and he doesn't hear her. She runs after him and the cold air hits her lungs, burning. She calls out once more as he's crossing with the 'walk' light.

"Richard, stop!"

He does, standing still, then he's walking back and she's almost at the corner, her eyes watering. It's not just the cold that's doing it, she knows. She pulls off her gloves, pushes them in one pocket, and runs her fingers under her eyes so that they won't be wet when he makes it back to her.

"What are you doing here?" Juliet is stunned at the sound of her own voice, so unexpectedly needy, rising and falling sharply through the course of the few words.

"That's what I should be asking you." Richard's hands are still in his pockets and there's a light, casual lilt in his voice, a small smile on his face like it's no big deal they're standing here talking, but it is, she knows it is for him, too. "I'm sure you're aware we've been tracking you since you came back stateside. I don't believe Ben knows you've left Portland. Is this permanent, or just a trip for work or vacation?"

"Oh please, please, don't go all 'company line' on me." Juliet whispers it. Her voice is back to its usual measured, controlled self but her heart is still on her face. "Of course I know they're following me, Richard, why say that to me?"

He looks up and then back at her and she gets a physical shock at the misery he lets her see for a second before his expression goes bland, smiling again.

"Because they could be watching us now," he says. "Highly likely, in fact."

"How long are you in town?" She asks fast, her voice still low. "I'm here for three days, I'm staying at the hotel just in back of us, this side of the street."

"Of course you are," Richard murmurs, "So am I. What a coincidence."

"Why would Ben do this for us? Put us here in the same place at the same time?"

"He didn't do this for us," Richard says, "He did it to me. It's his punishment, because in three days you leave and I go back and I never see you again. And then I get to think about that for a very long time."

Juliet's the one looking up at the sky now, pushing back tears, so angry. It had taken him nearly two years, but Ben would have his revenge. And they would let him, because really, they had no choice.

"See you tonight?" he asks and she nods, standing there as he walks away, turning to ask one more question.

"It's work, right?"

"Yeah," she nods. "I'm here for work."

"Good luck with your work today, Jules. See you tonight."

* * *

><p>Normally she wouldn't have gotten back to the hotel until at least seven, but she's there at five thirty, in the shower, thinking about the text message she'd gotten at 12:45pm that read "Taking you to dinner. Little black dress."<p>

How did he have/get her cell number? She hung the dress she'd just bought in the bathroom while she showered, to get the wrinkles out.

"Is there anywhere better for going out to dinner than New York?" Juliet asks.

Their table is 30 floors over mid-town east, the windows so big the restaurant barely needs to turn on the lights at night, the city pitch black and yellow, glittering. There's piano music and hushed voices and the clink and snick of glasses and plates, waiters moving slowly among the tables. It's everything they've never shared before, and Juliet can't remember when she's ever been so happy just to be out to dinner.

"Paris?" Richard offered, shooing the waiter, pulling out her chair for her. "It might rival this."

He's wearing a grey suit so dark it's almost black, single button, looks like it was cut just for him and she watches him for a minute and wonders how she thought she could go without ever seeing him again.

"Maybe," she says. "It's close."

"You've made a name for yourself since you came back," Richard says and though his face is straight, his eyes go warmer with the words. She shrugs lightly, one corner of her mouth turning down.

"I'm not sure how deserved it is, the latest round of tests aren't going well at all. It might've been a fluke, Rachel getting pregnant. Hard as that is for me to say, it's true."

"And how is she?"

"She's great. Rachel's great," Juliet's voice is a little too high, too happy. "She met someone, got married. I don't see them much, the three of them moved for his work, they're in California and I'm in Portland."

"So you're alone again?"

"Yeah," she says it softly, "Alone again. How are things… where you are?"

She can't even say it, she hates the thought of the place so much and she sees he even hates the thought of it at this moment, how it's intruding on dinner. He shifts in his seat, looks out the window next to them shaking his head.

"Ben's out of control," he says, pauses. "He was better for awhile after he got back from stateside, from the surgery. He seemed to appreciate what he had a little more, appreciate us all more. Now he's just…. It could all be run so much better, with so much less paranoia."

That gets a bitter little laugh out of Juliet and he sees she's jittery now, her fingers fidgeting with the tablecloth, her eyes roaming, almost scared.

"I'm sorry," Richard says, "We only have a couple of evenings together, how about we not let them have another minute of our time?"

"I'd like that," she smiles, eyes damp and she drinks her water, runs her fingers unconsciously over her forehead tucking back a strand of hair. "I really would."

* * *

><p>Richard checks her hotel room for bugs, cameras when they get there and he finds one, pulling it from under the edge of the hotel room desk, crushing the thumb sized camera under his foot as she whoops with joy at the sight.<p>

"Just us now?" she asks, breathless, pulling at his belt as he pushes her step by step to her bed. "Just us?"

"Yeah," Richard says, "Just us, baby."

Day two she wakes up to find him cool, bitter. She wants to kick him for it.

"You chose to come back here," he says, first words out of his mouth, getting point number one out there right away.

"I wasn't running from you. I had to get away. Thought I'd be happier here, home, with my family. But I'm not. That make you feel any better?"

"Sure you weren't running from Goodwin?"

Point number two. On the table.

"I gave him up," she's leaning up over him, furious he's gone there. "I gave him up for his own good, and I took time, let myself heal from it. I didn't ask to fall in love with you in the process. I didn't… ask… for this."

Richard flips her over and he apologizes to her with his eyes, his mouth, his body. He apologizes three times, and she's very late for work.

Day three she doesn't go to work at all, tells them she isn't feeling well, that she'll see them back in Portland.

"Ben didn't do this to hurt to you," she says, putting her phone on the nightstand. "He did it to get back at me."

"What do you mean?" He's kissing his way from her ribs down to her belly button.

"If you'll promise… promise you'll stay with me as long as I live," she runs her fingers through his hair, pulling lightly. "I'll go back. I'll fly to L.A. and get on the sub with you."

"No," he says it sharply, looking up, "No, you got out of there once. If you get out, get free of there- you don't go back."

They argue about it for half an hour and he wins the fight, tells her they shouldn't say goodbye this miserable. They go for a long walk in the park, the cold stinging, making her sniffle but it's sunny and before it's over they're laughing again.

Then they share a cab to Kennedy Airport, quiet, holding hands. She stares down at his thumb rolling softly over the back of her hand and there's something coolly determined in her eyes but he's looking out the window, doesn't see it. He drops her off at the Delta terminal, and she just gets out and pulls her carry-on along and she's gone – no goodbye, nothing and Richard understands but it still feels like he's just been kicked hard as the cab door closes.

He has hours until his flight and he spends them at a booth in the tapas restaurant at T5, watching the TV set up high against the wall but not hearing a word of it. He thinks about going back for her, but her flight is gone and there's no point.

* * *

><p>Eight hours later he gets to the piers in L.A. and walks to the submarine and she is standing there, waiting for him, not in Portland. She has a backpack over one shoulder and one side of her mouth quirked up in a hard, cold smile that says she's going with… so he'd better not start with her.<p>

"He'll make our lives hell, if he can," Richard warns.

"No he won't," She says it in her prettiest, perkiest, least worried tone. "You've got Jacob on your side, so he can't touch us, really. You don't take enough advantage of that, you can push him harder than you do. I can help you. We can make it a better place."

He's walking her to the sub now, taking her backpack from her.

"Not sure if they have enough orange juice on board," he says, his lips reaching for her ear.

"No problem," she taps the backpack, angles in to him, "I brought extra."


	9. Hope and where to find it

**Los Angeles**

"Who knew Rite Aide is the hot place to be on Thursday afternoon?" Claire mumbled, darting her head to look at the line, the basket on her arm getting heavy.

She and Liam had hit a strip mall on the way back from the will reading. He was next door now picking up staples for the house while she made the drug store run.

"Right?" The woman in front of her nodded. "Twenty minutes in line to buy hair dye," Kate turned as she spoke, saw Claire's pregnant state and waved her by. "Please, go ahead..."

"Oh," Claire hesitated, then nodded, stepping forward, smiling, "Thanks."

"Maybe a few other folks would let you cut?" Kate said it loudly, but the people in front of them chose not to hear. "Losers," Kate said, and Claire laughed. Then she noticed Kate staring into her basket, the smile falling from Kate's face.

"Oh, it's not all for me," Claire laughed lightly. "I'm helping an ill friend..."

"Yeah, uh, I…" Kate looked around a little randomly, then back at her. "It's none of my business but I had a couple of friends in high school who detoxed at home, and I remember us, um, buying bags and bags of all those same meds for them. It brought back memories, that's all."

It was Claire looking uncomfortable now, shifting the basket to her other arm.

"Seems like you've got a lot to deal with right now," Kate said, "I hope it works out."

"Oh, it will. It's just an acquaintance, really, not like it's someone I have to rely on." Claire's voice trailed off, a little wrinkle forming on her forehead as she realized how inaccurate the words coming out of her mouth really were.

"Sorry," Kate said, "Like I said, none of my …."

"Can I tell you something?" Claire asked, frowning. Then she pushed ahead without waiting for an okay as Kate smiled a tiny smile and they inched forward with the line. "In the past two days I've met three people—Charlie, who was on a plane with me, and who has been nothing but lovely to me despite being in a lot of pain; his brother Liam who is an absolute doll; and a half-brother I didn't even know about until yesterday, who was also on the plane with me before we even met. And he's… well, he's like, Mister Upright Citizen, this brainy, money doctor. Still, somehow despite all that I am managing to still feel like I'm stranded and totally on my own in the world. Isn't that pathetic?"

"Wow," The word popped out of Kate's mouth, "You've had quite a week. But no, it's not pathetic," she shrugged, "You've only known them a few days. There's still plenty of time for them to let you down."

"Exactly!" Claire pointed a finger at her, grimacing. "That's how I'm feeling, like it's all going to turn out to be one big, sick joke and I'll be back on the sidewalk just me and my suitcase … ah, I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I'm a well-known motor mouth."

"I met someone on a plane this week, too," Kate said, shocking herself, wondering why she was sharing when it could do her no good. "I'm driving east with him later today."

"Really," The little wrinkles returned to Claire's forehead. "Can I ask you… you weren't flying here from Australia, were you?"

"Yeah," Kate said, "Couldn't help noticing your accent. Oceanic? Tuesday flight?"

"Weirder and weirder," Claire said, "That's five of us. That's like what, almost two percent of the passengers, who had never met before who've met now? Don't you think that's too odd?" She kept going as Kate shrugged. "So who is your friend you're traveling with? Do you feel like you can rely on him?"

"Oh no," Kate gave off a horrified little sound. "He…. he's someone I want to believe is better than he thinks he can be. That make any sense?"

"You just described eighty percent of the people on the planet," Claire said.

They were nearly at the head of the line now, and Kate dug in her purse, pulling out a pen and a cash register receipt, started writing on the back of it.

"You're going to think I'm insane, but take this," she handed it to Claire. "My cell number. If you do find yourself on the sidewalk with just a suitcase, you can call me, okay? I don't know where I'll be, but I could always wire you money, at least."

"Really?" Claire looked from the slip of paper, back to her. "Why would you do that?"

"Just a girl watching another girl's back," Kate said. "Besides, when you never call me I can tell myself, 'See: Her guys came through for her.'"

"Thanks, Audrey," Claire nodded, "That's really sweet. I'm Claire, by the way."

"You're welcome," Kate said, "Nice to meet you, Claire."

"Yeah," Claire walked to the register, waving. "See you later."

Claire stopped in mid-step, hearing the words come out of her mouth again just as they had on Tuesday. Then she tucked the phone number safely in her purse where it wouldn't get wrinkled.

**New York**

"Have a good evening, Ms. Song," her student intern waved as she left, the long, thin chain of little bells that ran half the length of the door ringing high and clear as it swung open.

"Good night, Ella, see you Thursday," Sun barely looked over, busy dusting off her hands on a rag, surveying her studio and its bright, white lights, gleaming blond-wood floors, and now its beautiful brand new paint job. She sighed a happy sigh, thinking that whoever had called watching paint dry boring had never opened a small business.

It had only been a week since she'd landed at JFK and she'd accomplished a lot: Found an apartment, changed her legal name to Mi Sun Song, bought a tiny space in Soho she could afford for her art gallery. Of course, she thought, having millions that you'd siphoned off your father's bank accounts made hard work easy. Any time she felt bad about it, all she had to do was picture her father shouting her down, shouting everyone down, or Jin crushing her spirit when it got a little too high for his taste.

Sun was pulling safety tape off of the baseboards when she heard the bells jingling again, and she turned to see a man there, waving with one hand, a large zippered art portfolio in the other.

"Hi, I'm sorry to drop in without an appointment," he said, "but I'm staying in the neighborhood and I noticed your sign. I'm hoping you'll take a look at my work."

Sun walked over, to him, her face straight but the hint of an apologetic smile in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, mister…?" she held out a hand and he shook it.

"Dawson. Michael Dawson."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dawson but I'm not anywhere near ready for a show yet as you can see," she spun around, enjoying the view again, even enjoying the paint scent. "But if you'd like to come back in few weeks we can talk…"

"No," It came out harsher than Michael meant it too, and he looked down, shaking his head, "Listen, I know none of this is your problem but I could really use a win right now. I'm just back in New York. I'm looking for a job all day and stuck in a 500 square foot sublet with my son and his dog all evening. The only thing that's keeping me sane is the hope that I might just get someone to at least consider my paintings."

Sun had wanted to jump in and interrupt, but there was something that was so heartfelt in his plea that she waited for him to finish. Then all heck broke loose.

"Daaad," the door flew open, the bells jangling a little madly this time, and a young boy darting in, dragging a drooling, panting big yellow Labrador along by his collar. The dog broke free, running around the room faster and faster until they could barely get their eyes on him, growling a cheerful, low growl that many a dog owner would recognize as a special celebration.

"Um, Vincent just did a poo," Walt told his dad, barely noting Sun, "And then his leash snapped. And then I had to chase him down the street."

Vincent was dancing around Michael now, swinging his head around, almost seeming to be showing off the ragged edge of his leash still dangling from his collar. Then he sat back, tongue hanging out, panting.

Michael's eyes were planted firmly on Walt, staring death rays at him. Walt was looking up, as unconcerned and unimpressed as a kid could be.

"I'm so sorry," Michael said, eyes still fixed on Walt, "If he scratched up your new floor at all we will absolutely…" 

He looked up to see Sun, one hand over her mouth, laughing silently.

"It's okay," she said. "It's just a floor. If that's the worst thing that happens all week…" she looked at the three of them and he could see she'd made up her mind. "There's a café down the street, with outdoor seating. They welcome the four-legged. Why don't we go get a snack, my treat, and I can look through your portfolio."

"Would you? Thanks, really, it means a lot, it gives me hope…"

"Huh," Sun said, picking up her purse, pulling out her keys. "Well that's good to hear, because that's why I'm opening the place. I told myself all I wanted was to give a few creative people some hope. Hope is something I went years without, myself."

"Um dad," Walt tugged at his shirtsleeve. "How are we going to walk Vincent?"

"The painters left some twine," Sun said. "Maybe you can fashion a rope from them?"

"Fashion?" Walt's nose wrinkled, his eyes narrowed.

"It's another way to say 'make,'" Michael said, a note of 'you are in so much trouble' still in his voice.

"Oh, I can do that. I can fashion a leash from some twine," Walt went to look for it, and Sun enjoyed the sight of Michael trying to stay mad, fighting off the smile threatening to break out on his face.

"He's cute," Sun said.

"Oh yeah," Michael gave in to the smile. "He's cute when he's sleeping. Unfortunately he's young and he doesn't need much sleep."

**Los Angeles**

"Sawyer," Kate pulled open the bathroom door, "Can I get a hand in here?"

He was stretched out on the hotel sofa, nose in a book on game theory, and he sat up just slightly, very slowly, staring at the door.

"Could you come out here and ask me that? 'Cause given how this is a business relationship I'm not really comfortable walking into the girl's room with you."

"It's not the girl's room," Kate said, stepping out, rolling her eyes.

"It is when you're in it," James smiled up at her, book still raised, looking at the comb and the scissors in her hand. Her hair was stick straight with bangs, a rich auburn red. "You look like Peter Parker's girlfriend."

"Who the hell is Peter Parker?" Kate walked over to the kitchen sink, motioned for him to follow.

"He's Spiderman, baby," Sawyer wandered over slowly, enjoying watching her waiting for him. "You want me to cut the back of your hair, don't you? 'Cause you can't reach? Haven't been keeping up with your yoga?"

"Exactly," she handed him the scissors and comb and turned, her back to the sink.

"Sweet of you to worry about the hotel cleaning crew," Sawyer spun her around by the shoulders, "But this will be a lot easier if I have full access to the back of your head."

"Just cut straight across," Kate said, "Nothing fancy. But after you cut across if you can turn the scissors up and kind of snip at the ends…."

Sawyer was laughing under his breath.

"Kate, you'll be lucky if I can manage the 'straight across' part. If you think I'm capable of being your personal stylist then you have got me wrong."

"Fine," she said, went silent as he snipped. "I met someone who was on our plane. At the store. Claire. She's hanging with a guy who was on the flight, too. What are the odds, huh?"

"She look like money?" Sawyer asked, snipping. Kate's heart fell and her shoulders braced, and Sawyer noticed the latter.

"No," Kate said, "She looked like someone you want to help."

She expected him to laugh at her again but Sawyer was silent, his fingers stretching down a strand of her hair, snipping, reaching in to pull and snip again and again.

"You know what you said yesterday, about how you're going to be out of here in a week, ten days?" he asked eventually. "I'm starting to think you were right because if you're going to separate people from their money you have to be tough. I'm not sure you've got that in you."

She felt the palm of his hand barely touching the crown of her head now, saw him reaching around, handing her the scissors, points down.

"I'm not sure why," he said, "but I'm also not feeling too great about the idea of helping you corrupt yourself. And Kate- believe me when I say that's not like me."

"It's okay," she walked back to the bathroom, not looking back at him. "I won't be dead weight, I'll earn my way. I'll be ready to go in ten."

"Fantastic," Sawyer walked toward his suitcase. "I'll get our stuff in the car. I'll give you one thing, Kate - you don't waste time. I like that."

**Bel Air**

**Charlie's House**

Claire walked slowly up the stairs, looking back, making sure she still heard the sounds that told her Liam was in the kitchen putting away the things they had just bought and organizing Charlie's meds. She wasn't sure why she felt like a thief: All she wanted to do was see Charlie, talk with him – and then she remembered he didn't want her to see him until he was through what he was going through. And in a way, she was about to steal that from him.

The experiences of the last day and a half were too much, though, she needed to see him, talk to him more than she had to respect his wishes and so she knocked on his door.

"Yeah, c'mon in Lee, I'm decent and it's nothing you haven't seen before anyway…"

Charlie was in the middle of his room, wearing pajama bottoms, pulling a t-shirt over his head. He turned as he did, expecting to see his brother and broke into a pained smile when he saw her instead.

"I had a feeling you'd say to hell with my rules," he said. "Only half sorry you did."

"Charlie, oh my God," Claire followed him as he walked to his bed, flopped, "You look horrible."

She sat near him, peering down. He was just out of a cold shower and already sweating, his eyes black circles. She would swear he'd lost a few pounds in a day.

"You should have seen me yesterday," he smiled up at her. "I'm a matinee idol compared to that. I'm set for the runway. Ready for my close up, Mister DeMille…"

"Stop it," Claire said it with a smile, but firmly. "You don't have to be glib for me," she stretched out, giving in to the demands of her aching back, reached her fingers up to move his hair away from his eyes. "I'm sorry you're going through this."

"I'm sorry, too," he said, "Sorry and pathetic and aching and puking and having conniptions. Glad you're still here, too. Tell me you're not going to take off?"

"If I were going to, wouldn't I have by now?" Claire stopped, seeing him fighting off a wave of emotion. "Charlie," she pulled back a touch. "This isn't about me. You haven't known me long enough to be all broken up about whether I stay or go."

She stopped, seeing how his face had shifted to an 'isn't that ironic' half a smile, how his head was up off the pillow, gazing at her stretched out against him.

"I think you're objecting too much for a girl all cozy in my bed."

"No fair. I'm an elephant and I'm hurting all over, too," she said. "You'd lay down, I can tell you that."

"Great, so let's lie here and hurt together a bit until Big Brother comes and kicks you out. Tell me about your day."

"Well, speaking of siblings I met my half-brother," Claire shifted, flipping onto her back.

"Liam told me," Charlie said, "Is he a stuffed shirt, stiff upper lip waspy sort? Sounds it."

"Not so much. He's, you know, a grown up unlike us but he seems all right," Claire shrugged. "We're going to take a ride Saturday, have lunch at a place on the coast."

"Where?"

"Not sure- he told me, but I've forgotten."

"I wish I were driving you there," Charlie flipped on his back, too. "Wish it were us going."

"You will," Claire said, "It will be. Just… take your time okay?"

"What does that mean?"

"Liam told me you want to go back to later this week. It's too soon."

"Liam needs to keep his mouth shut," Charlie snapped and she knew it wasn't at her.

"Stop it," Claire didn't move, but she felt him flinch. "He's only thinking of you. I've seen it, how it hurts him seeing you go through this. He's worried for you."

"Sorry," Charlie said, and she felt his hand wrapping around hers. "We're brothers. We fight. You probably should get used to it."

"Yeah," she said, like it was just hitting her, too. "I guess I'd better."


	10. Laughter, Tears and a Good, Hot Shower

**Charlie's House**

**Bel Air**

**Saturday, 10:55 AM**

"Ten points for promptness," Claire was standing on the front steps as Jack walked up from the driveway. She had one hand on her almost-constantly aching back and a nervous smile that wasn't quite making it to her eyes.

She'd been both looking forward to and dreading their lunch plans, but she realized now it was mostly because she'd been very on edge at the lawyer's office. It hadn't helped that he'd been in full-grownup mode: In weekend jeans and casual button down shirt he looked a lot less intimidating and maybe even a little anxious, too.

"It's a really annoying habit of mine," Jack said, tucking his keys away, "Overly punctual. Yeah, you think that's great today, but wait until the fiftieth time we meet up and I'm already waiting for you, looking at my watch. I get a lot of eye rolls."

She laughed and there was an awkward couple of seconds while they each tried to decide how to greet the other. Jack stepped in and then back and Claire jumped forward, gave him a much bigger than anticipated hug. She smiled when she felt a surprised and happy exhalation from him.

"How about we go in and I'll meet your friends?" Jack nodded toward the door behind her. Claire kept her smile but he noticed her biting her lip, looking down.

It seemed to Claire that the better Charlie felt, the more he and Liam fought. Claire had grown up an only child with a mom and an aunt, no one else around and the sound of two grown men fighting as loudly and angrily as they had today had sent her outside to the pool, shaking.

"It hasn't been a good morning in the Pace household," Claire finally said in a deep and overly serious tone of voice, trying to keep things light, her forehead wrinkling in a way that looked instantly familiar to Jack. "Maybe on the way back?"

He looked from the door to her and the concern on his face made her nerves jump. She knew herself well enough to know what her reaction was about, but it didn't stop the little fission of annoyance. How dare he worry about her?

"Sure," Jack started then both back toward his SUV. "No rush."

"Where are we going again?" Claire asked once they were buckled in and on the way.

"Huntington Beach," he said, "Great restaurant on the Pacific Coast Highway, about an hour south. Well, the view is great. The food… I hope it's still good. Haven't been there in three, no, four years. Damn. Is that possible?"

"What do you do for fun, on weekends?" Claire asked.

"Sleep in," Jack said, a half grin, half grimace on his face that said he knew how bad this was going to sound, "And I work a little less than other days…"

"Work: That's Monday through Friday…" she said.

"Surgery is Monday through Friday. Nights and weekends are for charts and reports, reading up on the new journal articles, prepping for cases…"

"Are you kidding me?" Claire blurted, then her hand went to her mouth. "Sorry. Damn, do you not have any life of your own at all?"

There was a pause while Jack drove, started to say something and stopped, one hand leaving the wheel to brush over his head.

"It's the life I was raised into," he said, finally. "I'm not sure I'd know what to do with anything else. Actually, I do know because I tried and… it went very badly. Yet another thing I've managed to blame on the family business."

"He came to see me," Claire broke in. "Five years ago. My mom was in a crash and he heard about it somehow, showed up out of nowhere. He wanted me to take her off life support. I was so pissed at him then, but she's still in a coma. The reason I was upset the other day … it's because I was wishing I'd had the chance to see him once more and tell him he was right and that I'm sorry I told him to go away and leave me the hell alone."

Claire paused for a shaky breath, looked over to Jack and saw him still processing her words, picturing the conversation, the expression he knew must have been on his father's face at that moment.

"Sorry. Too much at once…" she said.

"Yeah," he breathed it. "Wow, neither one of us gave him a break, did we?"

"No," Claire dragged the word out, and the way her accent turned the simple 'o' in the word into an 'a' and two 'w's and an r broke the mood, made him smile. "But he probably deserved every bit of it."

"You know what…" Jack turned on the radio, shook his head. "Let's not talk about any of our parents the rest of the day, okay? There's time for that. I want to hear about you."

"Sure," Claire started flipping through the XMS satellite stations, didn't bother to ask permission and he watched her, amused. "Like what?"

"Start by telling me about these rock stars, and why you're staying with them and not with my mom or me like we offered…"

"Aw crap," Claire looked out the far window, grinning. "I fell right into that, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did," Jack said.

**Route 66  
>Arizona<strong>

**12:00pm**

"Okay, repeat it back to me," Sawyer was sprawled out in the driver's seat, hands loose on the wheel, aiming them toward Texas. He'd just given Kate her first instructional session on Grifting 101.

"We stop for gas. I distract the clerk and you tell him he only gave you change for a twenty when you gave him a hundred dollar bill. Generally they're gonna have at least one of them in the till, so the trick is getting them so distracted they don't bother to count. Seriously is the eighty bucks worth the risk?"

"Of course not," Sawyer huffed. "Wanna see what you've got for acting skills. Plus there's no risk – if he catches on, I say, 'sorry, my mistake' and I flash a hundred from my wallet."

"You need to know if I'm worth your time, basically," Kate grinned over at him, her legs folded in front of her on the passenger's seat.

"Well, I wouldn't put that hard a point on it," Sawyer said, "But yeah, pretty much."

"Have you thought about investing your way out of your current job?" Kate asked and she got silence in return. "I mean, you're reaching out to your contacts to set up a big scam or three. If you pull in a couple of million, wouldn't you think it might be worth…. diversifying?"

"You mean for five percent interest in a bank account?" Sawyer looked like he couldn't decide whether to be amused or ticked off at her presumptuousness.

"Well, no, of course not- but maybe put some in real estate, then take the money from that and recruit some people to invest in some things with you." She saw him looking at her like her head was on sideways and she plowed ahead. "I'm not suggesting you go all legit at one time, but you might work your way to a business model that won't land you in prison."

"This is exactly why I do not do this. Help a girl out and she gets all kinds of helpful for no reason at all," He spit the words out, the angriest she'd heard him since the bar where they'd met and it took all the nonchalance she had in her to work up a smirk.

"Don't get all wound up, Sawyer," she said. "It was a thought."

"Well," his hands turned on the wheel and the car slowed down. "Hold that thought. Here's your first screen test- gas station dead ahead."

**On the Island**

Desmond realized he would make more ground on his inventory of the island if he ran instead of walking, and so that's what he does every morning. He's run east today, and is standing folded over, catching his breath, his eyes shot wide open at what's in front of him: Row after row of neat, orange-yellow houses, people walking between them, chatting, laughing, barbequing, hanging out at picnic tables chatting.

It's only a few days since Kelvin's death, and a whole civilization within running distance of the hatch is almost too much to take.

Figuring out what to do with it would have to wait, though. He did the math and realized he barely had time to run back to the Swan hatch to enter the numbers. He turned, wondering how he could shave a few minutes off the trip when he heard it: the fast click, snick, and click of a rifle loading.

Desmond raised his hands, turned slowly toward the sound and jumped at the sight of her. She wasn't one of them, one of the people walking contentedly through the enclave he'd spotted. She was skinny, bruised, scratched from a thousand walks through the jungle. They wore uniforms, she wore tattered, drooping clothes that had seen too many washings. She looked worn, wiry and perfectly capable of shooting him dead if she wanted to.

"Where is Alex?" The woman asked, and Desmond shook his head hard.

"Ahh… I'm sorry, I dunno," He gestured behind them. "If you're thinking I'm one-a them, I'm not, I assure you…"

"You would say that, wouldn't you?" she wasn't exactly aiming the rifle at him, but she was making vague gestures like that might happen soon.

"Listen," Desmond started slowly away from her, lifted his hands in the air. "I have to get back to the hatch, enter the numbers, or we're all dead."

"Wrong answer," she said, raised her arm to take aim. Desmond knew running wasn't an option and so he dove at her first movement, knocking her off her feet. The gun hit the ground as they both fell and he came up with it, emptying it of its shells.

"Why didn't you shoot me?" she asked it from the ground, leaning up on her elbows. He'd have sworn she sounded almost disappointed.

"Because I need help," Desmond blurted it out, the honest misery in his voice obvious to anyone's ears. "I need a partner to help me push the damned button. Thought I'd try to find someone to trick into it, but it's hard to play coy when all you have is 108 minutes at a time and a damned small recruiting pool…"

"Button?" she asked.

"Come with me, please," Desmond turned. "I'll show you. And I promise: The things that are in that hatch which you obviously don't have to your name right now- it'll be worth your while."

He took off then, because whether she came with him or not he was out of time. Still, he was deeply relieved to hear footsteps behind him, picking up speed, running smoothly and matching his pace all the way back.

When they got to the Swan, he waited a beat and waved for her to follow him as he threw open the side door and barreled down the stairs. He was down the hall, through the kitchen and in the computer room before she'd even made it down the steps. Desmond hit the numbers, hit 'enter' and watched, listened as the clock flipped back. Then he turned to see her behind him, awestruck, and he was glad they'd made it before the alarms could go off and spook her even more.

"This place," her voice, already husky to his ear before, was deeper now in her disbelief. "It's a research station. Scientists built this. What were they studying?"

"I have some information about that, and an educated guess or two," Desmond said, "And I'll share them if you'll stay, help me, not shoot me or strangle me in my sleep," he still had the gun in his hands and he tossed it to his right as she locked eyes with him, nodding. "Great. This computer I'll explain in about a hundred minutes. Out here," he walked back to the kitchen, "We get food drops every two weeks…"

"Food?" The doubtful, anxious sound in her voice was almost heart breaking.

"Yes," Desmond grinned, "No more fish, papaya… good old-fashioned American over-processed boxed and canned food. Tons of calories. It'll do ya good…"

She followed him as he walked back further, pointed out the bunks, the bookshelves and her eyes got bigger with every step until….

"And this," he pointed to the bathroom, jumped a little when she tore past him, almost shrieking. "Is the bathroom."

She slammed the door and half a second later he heard the shower slam on full blast, heard her give a shout they probably noticed back at the yellow-orange bungalows.

"Okay, great, well, enjoy…" Desmond said. "I'll go make us some coffee…"

"Coffee?" She shouted that, too and Desmond chuckled to himself.

"Better shut up, you're going to give her a heart attack before she can be any help to you."

He heard the door open ever so slightly, saw her face, her hair already full of shampoo, peeking out.

"My name is Danielle. Danielle Rousseau," she reached a hand out and he went back, shook it.

"Desmond Hume. Nice to meet you Danielle…" he turned to the kitchen. "Milk and sugar in the coffee?"

"Oh my God no, black, please. As strong as you can make it."

"Coming up… one French press, no milk, no sugar, not much water..."

**Route 66**

**Near Flagstaff**

**12:10pm**

Kate's first attempt at separating someone from their money was a success. She and Sawyer walked out of the gas station separately, didn't talk until they got in the car and pulled away.

"So," she was trying not to gloat. "How'd I do?"

"You did well, kid," he clearly didn't want to give her too much credit but couldn't hide his smile. "Eighty bucks might not be much to write home about, but it'll buy us lunch and dinner, won't it?"

"Don't forget you owe me sixteen off the top before you start buying meals with the rest," she pointed out.

"I'll start a tab…" he said, only half kidding.

They both went silent as they heard a quick 'whoop whoop' sound behind them on the road, and Sawyer tilted the rear-view mirror, cursing softly under his breath.

"Party lights. Why is a local cop following us? It ain't because of eighty bucks, that's for sure."

He turned his head, saw Kate rigid in her seat, ashen, barely able to breathe.

"I saw him in the gas station," her voice was a whisper. "I thought he looked at me funny. Oh damn…oh no…."

"Don't panic," Sawyer had been easing them to the side of the road since the cop signaled, and he grabbed her wrist now, hard enough to hurt a little, to get her attention. "All you've got is your cool, so keep it, okay? You don't know what he wants 'til he tells us…"

Sawyer pressed the window release, squeezing Kate's hand hard now, gave the officer a nod as he walked up.

"I got a tail light out or something?" He asked it in the least confrontational voice possible, and watching Sawyer run the conversation calmed Kate enough to keep her from losing it as she saw the uniform, the badge in the window.

"No, there's no problem sir – didn't mean to alarm you, but the lady forgot her cell phone and a wallet in the store. You almost left a few hundred bucks on the counter."

He handed them through the window and Sawyer thanked him profusely.

"Any given day one or the other of us would leave our brains behind if they weren't strapped in good," he said and the cop laughed, waved, walked back to his car. "Thanks again."

Sawyer flipped the window back up fast.

"I hear you about to lose it over there," he muttered, waiting, waving for the officer to go first. "Hold on… don't blow it now…"

Then the cop car was gone and so was Kate, her head on her knees, sobbing. She felt Sawyer's hand running over her back, felt other vehicles passing, making their car shake as he kept rubbing, silent.

"This ain't about one cop or the guy who was chasing you, is it?" he asked eventually and she shook her head without lifting it.

"I've screwed up my life so bad…." She heard him laugh so hard it was nearly a shout.

"Girl, there is no way in hell you've screwed your life up as badly as I have mine," he said, stopped when she sat up, tears drying on her face, a hard smile challenging him.

"Want to bet?" she said and she saw surprise on his face.

"Think you'll feel better if we put a few hundred more miles between us and California today?" he asked and she nodded. "Great. Let's do that. And when we stop tonight… Kate, I think we have to talk."

**Pacific Coast Highway**

**2:00 PM**

"I had no idea how beautiful it is here," Claire watched the water out the far window as they drove back north, blissed out from two hours sitting at a table perched over the ocean. "I mean Sydney Harbor is amazing, but this…it just goes on forever."

They had talked and laughed and chilled out so much at lunch that she felt almost buzzed.

"I have to remind myself not to take it for granted," Jack said. "Do you think you'll stay? After the baby is born?"

"I haven't had time to think about it," Claire shrugged, her eyes still far away. "It's only a few days since I found out I can't go home right now even if I want to."

"What about an OB-GYN? Did yours go away with the non-existent adoptive couple?" Claire nodded. "Well, we have to fix that Monday. Come see me at the hospital- you want a good doc, believe me, you don't want to come rolling up to the ER to have this baby without one…"

"Thank you," Claire cut him off, her voice genuinely appreciative but also a warning.

Jack stopped, not sure what to say.

"Listen," Claire's hands were on her back, her belly again, more aware than ever of her situation. "If I sound cold or unappreciative sometimes… it's … I have these abandonment issues the size of a house, and I'm afraid…."

She stopped, hearing Jack laughing under his breath.

"What's so funny?"

"Welcome to the club, Claire," he said, "Our dad had kids half a world apart and we ended up with the same issues. Nature, you think, or nurture?"

"Aaaahh!" Claire shouted, and with all the baby talk Jack panicked for second until he saw her reach forward, cranking up the radio. "Train in Vain!"

"Are you serious?" he yelled over the music. "Aren't you a dozen years too young for The Clash? Or more?"

"Oh my God, if I were driving we'd be going a hundred miles an hour. C'mon, get this thing going…"

"No way in hell," he looked at the speedometer. "I'm already eight miles over the limit and you're extremely pregnant …"

"Fuddy," she yelled, dancing to the music, "…Duddy."

Jack laughed, eased the SUV past the only car in front of them and took off, hitting the gas, watching Claire's reaction as it went from roar of approval to a slightly terrified whoop. He eased off the gas and she gave him a happy punch in the arm.

"What did we get up to there?"

"Oh, 94ish," he said, watched her face fall as they heard the siren kick in behind them.

"You've got to be kidding me?" she asked, laughing hysterically as Jack pulled over and they prepared to enjoy one of the most scenic places in the world to get a ticket.

"Um… mind popping open the glove compartment?" Jack asked. "Registration's in there…"

Claire did, hand over her mouth, still laughing.

"So sorry…"

"You don't look it," he bit his lip as he reached for the paperwork, looking away, trying not to smile.

"I'll totally pay the fine…"

"I might just let you," he waved his wallet at her, pulled out his license.

"I'm sorry, I know this seems highly illogical but I have to tell you, this is the most fun I've had in months," she gasped, clearly on the edge of a laughing jag.

"You're very good at this 'little sister' thing," Jack rolled down the window. "You're going to get me in all kinds of trouble, aren't you?"

"Probably," Claire shrugged, biting back another bout of the giggles. "I'm afraid probably so."


	11. Nowhere to go but forward

**L.A.  
>Sunday 11:00 a.m.<strong>

"Listen, I know I'm totally harping on this, but I don't get why you won't at least consider it."

Hurley put the thought on hold for a few seconds while he wrestled with a box half his height but almost too wide to fit in the back of his Hummer. He suddenly wished they'd taken up the Home Depot guys on their offer to help pack their stuff in the car.

"Gonna make it, there, Hugo? Looks like it's winning…"

John Locke was just to his left and Hurley stopped struggling, an indignant look on his face at the grin running across John's.

"Got it," Hurley kept his eyes on him as he gave an extra push and the box full of parts to make a ramp for John's front steps slid in with a clatter. "All I'm saying is it's been four years since you tried, since you talked with a specialist. You know how long four years is in medicine?"

John started lifting bags from their cart, handing them to him and Hurley dropped them in with the box.

"Yes, I do. I also know what false hope feels like. Ever get your hopes dashed? 'Cause I can tell you after sitting in three offices and hearing, 'I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do for you...' I'm not in a big hurry to grab a cab to the fourth office and hear it all over again."

Hurley had barely registered that someone was loading the SUV in the slot across from him, but then he saw a guy walking his way: Tall, dark hair, a smile on his lips as he searched through his wallet and pulled out a card.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude," he said, walking around Hurley to hand the card to John. "But I couldn't help overhearing, and, well… If you change your mind I'd be glad to take a look at your situation, let you know about some new procedures we're trying."

"Hey, thanks," John said, nodding as he started walking back to his vehicle with a wave that apologized for butting in.

"No problem. It's nice to see a son and a dad who care about each other."

"He a doctor?" Hurley asked John under his breath, grinning as John nodded and handed him the card. "Dude, he thought I was your son."

"That's probably because you're at the hardware store with me on a Sunday morning helping me pick up things to retrofit my new house, Hurley. A house I wouldn't be able to afford if you weren't overpaying me to be your business manager."

"Hey, St. Sebastian," Hurley said, reading the card. "That's a really good hospital, pretty cutting-edge."

He shut the door and walked behind John as John wheeled his way to the passenger's side.

"John, I'm not over-paying you. You got me up to speed on my whole box company, how it works, who the good people are, who had to go. And I'm gonna send you to all my other companies, have you give me the rundown on them too, full reports on every single one of them. By the way I own fifteen companies. Still feel underpaid?"

"Guess not. You gonna send someone along to help me with the travel?" Hurley nodded as he helped John in the vehicle and stowed his chair in the seat behind.

"Yup. It'll be money well spent."

Hurley walked around and John sat looking out the window, realizing he'd barely noticed the whole 'getting in the car' process happening at all and he smiled and shook his head.

Locke had tried more than once to tell Hurley he had to start treating him like any other employee. Hurley wasn't having any of it, especially after he'd dug into John's history and discovered what he'd been through. Locke thought that somehow Hurley saw him as a kind of a lucky penny - someone who life had beaten pretty hard on, too, who could help him in his quest to run his own companies. Not to mention John was someone he'd literally walked right into the very morning he'd decided to take charge of his life. As for John, while it still felt like the unlikeliest friendship in the world, he had to admit it was nice to have someone looking forward to his arrival at work five days a week, someone who'd cheerfully spend a couple hours helping him out with his Sunday chores.

"Before you go on your tour of North America, though," Hugo was buckling up. "You gotta do two things. First, go see this Doctor Shephard. He seemed like someone who's on it, pretty cool and collected, right?"

"That how you pick your docs, Hurley? First impressions?"

"It's how I picked you to be my right hand. That worked out."

"Fine, I'll think about it. What else? You said two things."

"You have to come have dinner with my folks tomorrow," Hurley was flinching and it got a laugh out of John. "Told my mom how you're helping me with my new gig and she wants to cook for you."

"She a good cook?"

"Yeah, she's fantastic."

"Then why are you flinching?"

"Well, my parents… they're kind of … a piece of work. It's hard to explain."

"That's everyone's parents, Hugo," John said as Hurley shrugged, fired up the car and got them on their way. "Dinner sounds great. But in return you have to do something for me. I want you to promise that you'll set out to make two new friends this month – people your age. Hit a movie with them, see a show, go to dinner. Get the hell out of the office and your folks' house."

"That's harsh," Hurley said.

"Hey, you're not paying me to dance around stuff that has to be said, right?"

"No, no, I'm not. Okay. I'll give it a shot. Let you know how it goes."

"Great," John said. "So what's for dinner tomorrow?"

**The Island  
>Swan Hatch<strong>

Desmond woke up slowly to the smell of coffee brewing, coffee he didn't have to fix for himself, and the fact of that made him smile. He pulled himself out of bed and gathered fresh clothes and a towel before hitting the shower.

Then he was combing his wet hair, pouring a cup, walking to the computer room to find Danielle. She was there as he knew she'd be, sitting with her chair pulled up tight to the keyboard, her eyes on the clock as it ticked down the minutes. They had another twenty before the alarm would start blooping.

"Good morning," she said it before he could, sensing him there without even looking, gesturing for him to pull up a seat.

"You look transfixed," Desmond sat backward on his chair, cup in front of him, warming his hands.

He also thought she looked far more civilized than the woman he'd met near the encampment in the jungle yesterday, looked every bit the scientist she was in the women's Dharma jumpsuit they'd dug out of the supply closet. She had showered and eaten dinner the night before with a fury that showed him how hard her life had been. Then she had hit the bottom bunk, totally unconcerned with the fact that the bed was unmade in a way that suggested he'd been using it lately. She was asleep in seconds.

Desmond's heart had broken a bit for her, and suddenly his own situation didn't seem so horrible. Hours later, when she got up and came to take her turn at the button he was so tired, fighting to keep his own eyes open that he barely noticed her. He had walked back and climbed into the top bunk, face-planting, happy for uninterrupted sleep.

"I'm thinking," Danielle slowly shook her head, sipped at her own coffee. "How much there is on this island. So much I didn't know about, that they scared me out of understanding. It's absurd."

"Who are they?" Desmond had a million questions, but that was the one foremost in his mind. How could he have spent three years here and not know about them? Did they know about him, about Kelvin down here all that time, on a mission neither he nor Kelvin fully understood? Who would do that to people?

"They're evil," Danielle said, eyes on the clock, nodding. "That's what they are. They're arrogant: They think they run the place, they don't get that it really runs them, that they're cogs in a terribly powerful wheel. They took my daughter and they told me they'd kill me if I came after her."

"Alex?" he asked. "Is that who you were referring to in the jungle?"

"Yes. She was eight days old when they took her from me," Danielle heard Desmond's soft exhalation of surprise at that. "I have no idea why they took her. No idea why they let me live."

"How long has it been?" Desmond asked, and she shook her head.

"She's a teenager. Either fifteen or sixteen depending on which month it is. I don't even know anymore."

"Oh my God," Desmond looked at her with fresh eyes, wondering how she'd survived it all.

"There are a lot of things I can teach you about this place," she said, "things that might help you make a successful escape. I take it you have a boat?"

"How did you know?"

"You said you needed a sucker to push the button. That suggests you have a way off. I doubt you own a submarine or a plane, so a boat makes the most sense."

Desmond nodded.

"I'm hoping you'll consider giving me some more of your time before you go, Desmond. You see, leaving here might not be as easy as getting on your boat and taking off. You need my help, and I need you too. I need…"

"What?" he asked when she paused.

"I need to knock them down, make them pay. I need more than to get my Alex back. I want to take this place away from them. Will you help me, Desmond? "

"I'll try," he said, and it was the most honest answer he could give her.

"A lot of the things I'm going to tell you might sound…. crazy. I hope you'll understand," Danielle paused, looking for the right words, and then she found the ones that cut to the chase. "I'm not insane. My experience has left me antisocial, maybe..."

"Danielle," Desmond stopped her with a hand to her arm. "I don't think you're insane. And antisocial? I took a vow of silence for a few weeks once, and I thought that was a big deal. A dozen years or more with no one to talk to? How could that not be torture?"

"Vow of silence," there were question marks in her smile. "Were you a monk?"

"Almost," Desmond's shrug and grimace were all it took to tell her that hadn't worked out.

"It appears there is a lot we have to learn about each other," Danielle said. "And I promise if you invest some time I'll make sure it's not wasted."

**Odessa, TX  
>Sunday 12 p.m.<strong>

Sawyer's eyes opened to Kate's auburn waves inches in front of his nose and he snapped them closed fast with a miserable groan of disbelief at himself.

He tried to remember the last time he'd had an alcohol-free night that left him wondering what the hell he'd been thinking when the sun came up. It had been a very long time.

She was clearly still deeply out and he managed to extricate his arm from under her, flipping on his back, shaking his head as he stared at the ceiling of their motel room.

While there hadn't been any alcohol there had been a grueling amount of driving. They had decided to try to make Dallas without stopping for anything but gas and food and they nearly did it, covering over a thousand miles, taking turns driving, stumbling up to this place at 3:00 a.m. bleary and irritable.

And then he'd insisted they talk, put all their cards face up on the table.

"Can't it wait until we wake up?" Kate was tying back her hair, pushing one of the pillows to the foot of the bed.

The guy in the motel office had a view of them pulling up in the same car and they agreed it might draw too much attention if they got separate rooms, so Kate had proposed one room and sleeping head to toe. It was the only thing that had made Sawyer smile in hours, an ironic grin that suggested the position still offered plenty of possibilities. She'd rolled her eyes at him and told him to go get the damned room.

He wasn't smiling as he insisted on their talk, though, and he even volunteered to go first.

They sat with their backs against the headboard and he told her his real name, his history, told her about prison and the some of the people whose lives he'd destroyed. He told her about his search for Anthony Cooper and how people he though the knew had used it, used him to get an innocent man murdered. And he wondered as he talked how her face stayed so calm, straight, no flinching and no disappointment. He'd been expecting disgust, but all he got was a cool, appraising stare.

Then Kate had told him her story and she watched him, surprised as his eyes alternately narrowed and flew open at her words. She'd been expecting acceptance, but all she saw was him withdrawing from her second by second without moving an inch.

There was a pause after she finished and she saw his jaw working, him thinking hard about his next words before he spoke them.

"You can sleep here tonight, but I want you out in the morning. I'll give you enough to get by on well for a couple of weeks, and a bus ticket to wherever you want."

He'd gotten up and headed for the bathroom then.

"Son of a bitch," she flew over to him, furious, in his face so hard that he walked around the room backward with his palms up to avoid doing anything he'd regret. "You wanted to hear it, how dare you judge me? I told you everything. Do you know how few people I even give my real name to? You asked and I told you and now you're kicking me out?"

"I am not judging you," he leaned in toward her as she backed down some. "I've ruined people, I've been cruel and heartless, but Kate you are reckless. Cruel and criminal will get you busted. Reckless will get you killed, and I don't need that around me."

He'd grabbed shorts and a tee from his suitcase then and headed for the bathroom again. She walked to the bed, sat on the edge and broke out crying.

"Alligator tears," she heard him say before the door closed. "The ones in the car earlier were real. These, not so much. I'm not a fool for you, Kate."

The lights were out when he opened the door again and he slid into his side of the bed, sighing at the luxury of finally lying flat. His eyelids dropped in seconds and he felt the room go swimmy. When Kate crawled on top of him, knees pinned just below his hips, he thought at first he was dreaming it.

"Sweet baby Jesus, do you not know when to give up?"

He didn't even open his eyes but he could feel it when she leaned in and he anticipated her mouth on his half a second before he felt it. He let her kiss him for a minute, maybe longer and then he broke it.

"Hey Kate," he reached up and pulled her hips down, bucked up as he did to show her he was willing and able if she was serious. "This won't change a thing in the morning."

He did open his eyes then, saw her eyes glinting, felt her fingers on the waistband of his shorts, a twisty little smile on her lips.

"Lots of time to talk about it then," she'd said.

Morning had come and gone while they slept and now he was lying there contemplating grabbing his keys and getting the hell out.

"Your arm still attached to your shoulder?" Kate asked, her voice scratchy with sleep. She didn't move, still on her side facing away from him.

"What's that?" he asked and she rolled slowly on her back, grinning.

"Didn't chew it off getting it out from under me?"

"Oh. Yeah. Funny," he lifted the arm closest to her, tugged at her hair. "Nope, still fully functional."

"I've got an idea," she said.

"I'm sure you do."

"I know how we can make a ton more money together. Double what you've been thinking, maybe more."

"You've been at this three days and you're gonna double our money?"

"Yup," she slid out of bed and walked to the bathroom, a spring in her step.

"Kate, about you leaving today…"

"We were tired," she stopped at the door and smiled back at him. "That's all it was. Right?"

"Probably," he said. It wasn't until he heard the water kick on, her singing in the shower that he realized the discussion was well and truly over.

"This can only end badly," he said to the ceiling. Then he got up and went to join her in the shower.


	12. Claire Makes a Call

**note- I have not given up on this story! More next week and then hoping it really takes off from there.**

**Los Angeles  
>Jack's apartment<strong>

Jack looked at the assorted brackets, rails, bolts and lamp casings spread out on his floor and shook his head.

"Assembling track lighting shouldn't be as complicated as a laminectomy," he muttered, flipping through the directions again.

The realtor he called said his place would do well when he decided it was time to sell, but suggested tweaks to boost the asking price. She also mentioned that people would be "more highly motivated to buy" once the holidays were over. It made Jack think about all the reasons he was highly motivated to sell. Coming back to the hospital had been as difficult as he'd expected, lots of poorly hidden stares and awkward conversations. He felt like his father was in the next room, down in the ER, up in his office. He actually got to the point where he dreaded turning a corner and walking right into him, as absurd as he knew the thought would sound out loud. By the time he'd been home two weeks he had a headhunter looking for opportunities at hospitals around the country.

He heard his phone ringing, and the old-style tone that sounded like a landline ringing told him it wasn't anyone he knew. 'Telemarketer' he thought, and almost ignored it. Then saw Claire's name on the display and realized he'd forgotten to assign her a sound. 'A giggle,' he thought. A happy laugh like the one he'd heard on the way home from lunch the day before: That would work for Claire.

"Hey, how are you?" He heard vague background noise first, and a sniffle. Then the background sounds resolved into distant shouting, and he heard Claire's voice, tentative and shaky.

"Um, hey, Jack – sorry to bother but I was wondering if I could take you up on your offer to come stay there for awhile?"

"Claire, are you okay? What's happening?"

"Ah, they're … having a row. Charlie and Liam. I'm out by the pool. They're in the kitchen. Please don't be worried, they're both perfectly kind to me. It's each other they'd like to kick the hell out of sometimes. They're leaving for rehearsals in a bit. I was wondering, if you're not busy today…."

"Grab your stuff, text me the address," Jack looked for his keys and found them under the bag with the bolts and the allen wrenches. "It's no problem, Claire – see you in a few minutes."

**New York  
>Soho – <strong>_**Hope in Hand**_** Gallery**

"Just half of a half an inch," Sun stood with her head tilted to the right, a glass of wine in one hand and the other tucked under the opposite elbow. "You almost have it."

Michael logically assumed she meant in the direction she was leaning, and he prodded the painting that way, shifting the guide wires that were holding it to the wall. He stopped when he saw Sun break into an embarrassed giggle.

"Other way. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Michael watched her as much as the painting as he shifted it along the wall again. He stopped when she held up a hand to signal 'perfect'. "You're giving me a huge opportunity here."

"Well, I'm also taking twenty percent of sales," Sun pointed out very practically, eyes scanning all the other pieces they'd lined the walls with through the afternoon. "I really can't decide which I love more, your oils or the sketches. This one…"

She walked to the brightly colored pencil sketch of Sydney Harbor, all sorts of varieties of reds and violets and golds, with violently wild lines covering the paper. It felt lit up from within the pencil strokes, somehow.

"I love this one best."

"That one – It's my newest. It was done on a pretty emotionally jarring day," Michael said, looking for his glass of wine, finding where he'd left it on the arch near the doorway. "It was the day I got to Australia to pick up Walt. I started it while we were having dinner on the harbor. Let's say he was…. less than excited to be coming home with me."

Sun nodded, looked over to where Walt was sitting along one wall with Vincent, repeatedly loading a kong toy with treats and hiding it for him. Since the gallery was only 600 square feet, Vincent was pretty much shooting fish in a barrel and visibly happy about that, his tail making a palpable breeze.

"I don't want to get your hopes up," Sun said, watching Walt and then looking back to Michael, wincing. "It's only my first opening, I'm not expecting a stampede in here on Tuesday. I did put up fliers, got a mention in the community papers …."

Michael shook his head, smiling as she trailed off.

"I'm not expecting to be swimming in people here, either. It just feels great to be getting somewhere. It makes the eight hours a day I spend in a cubicle at the buildings department _almost_ bearable."

"I was in Australia recently. This month, in fact," Sun said it without thinking, saw Michael's look of surprise and she realized she'd broken the "share less, not more" rule she'd adopted since running away from Jin. "I was… visiting a relative."

"Wow, talk about a small world. I never thought I'd ever have a reason to go there. And we were maybe in Sydney at the same time. Walt and I just got home the twenty second…."

"Really?" Sun looked extremely surprised for two reasons. She decided not to share one; the fact they'd probably flown home at the exact same time, too. "I would have thought the two of you have been together much longer. It feels like you have."

"It gets a little easier and a little trickier every day," Michael said.

"I can only imagine," Sun said, and looked at Michael wondering how she'd gone from telling him she couldn't present his artwork for at least a few weeks to holding an opening with him in two days.

"Why don't we go get dinner?" She said, and Michael nodded, started gathering up the spare frames and the tools scattered around the room.

"Come on, Walt. Time to hit the pub."

She watched Walt putting Vincent's dog bed and water bowl in the supply closet, Michael cleaning up, and it hit her that Michael wasn't the only one whose life was getting easier and trickier every day.


	13. Three Goodnights

**Bel Air  
><strong>

Jack pulled into the driveway and sat staring at the house for a second, sighing, a hand on the keys in the ignition. He hoped he wasn't about to walk into a full-scale domestic brawl.

It was kind of a conservative house for a rock star, he thought as he walked toward the front door. It was stucco with a big, open-plan living area visible through the windows, very modern furniture in muted tones against celery colored walls. He was intent enough on looking around that he didn't see Claire standing on the top step by the door until he was almost there.

"Welcome to the crazy house," she rolled her eyes but she was smiling, looked calmer than she'd sounded earlier as she waved for him to follow her in. "Come meet the boys."

He heard them before he saw them; one guy barking something that indicated he didn't think his brother ever had faith in his ability to "man up and be an adult" and the other one shouting "shut up Charlie, shut up Charlie, get the hell _over_ yourself, little brother," over and over.

They came swinging through the hallway headed for the kitchen. The taller one gave Jack a wave and a nod and kept going.

"Hi, I'm Charlie Pace," Charlie stopped, shook hands with Jack but kept talking. "I'm genuinely sorry to make what I'm sure is a _horrible_ first impression, but I'm trying to get my brother to rehearsals before he wimps out and _wrecks_ our damned _careers_…"

Charlie was off again to shout at the harried Liam some more. Jack heard another round of "shut up, Charlie" before the conversation devolved even further, and he looked at Claire, biting back a smile.

"Kind of makes you feel good about that whole 'growing up an only child' thing, huh?" he said, stopped Claire when she went to drag her suitcase to the door, grabbing it for her. "Are they always like that?"

"No, really, I swear they're not. Liam is so sweet, he's all heart. He's just worried about Charlie, thinks he's trying to work too hard after how ill he was. And Charlie's convinced the next week or so could either make them millionaires again or dash their hopes, so….big, big stress, you know?"

"Ill?" Jack asked and he saw Claire start to say something and stop.

"How about I only air the Pace family dirty laundry a little at a time?"

Jack gave her a 'no worries' half of a wave and opened the front door.

"I'll get this in the car – meet me there?"

"I hate it that we've driven you out of here. That you won't be sitting across the table from me at breakfast," Charlie had one hand on Claire's shoulder and the other in her hair, fingers running lightly through it. His eyes were firmly on the ground outside his own front door, unable to look her in the eye. "Please tell me again you're not furious with me. I need to hear it."

"I'm _not_. I've said so three times now," Claire dipped down to look up into his eyes, got a crooked smile out of him. "You two have a lot to figure out and I'm in the way, can only _be_ in the way. Go rehearse, have your battles, work it out. Besides," she reached in and planted the tiniest of kisses on one corner of his mouth. "How are you supposed to woo me and date me if I'm already living in your house? Can't have you taking me for granted too soon…"

"Never," Charlie squinted, tongue shoved in his cheek, shook his head ever so slightly. "How could anyone take an angel for granted?"

"Oh… I'm no angel, I promise," Claire said, and saw the amused rise that got out of him. "And a couple of guys have managed to do so just fine. But Charlie, I don't trust many people and I do trust you. I know you won't let me down."

"Come see us at the studio tomorrow?" He asked as she walked toward Jack's car, and Claire nodded.

"Hey Charlie," she called as he started to turn to go in. "Liam loves you. He's just wants you to be okay. Ya know?"

"Yeah," Charlie had one hand in his pocket and a rueful grin on his face. "He's a total ass about it, but yeah. I know. Not going to stop giving him what-for, though. I'll keep shouting at him until we're rich and famous again."

"Charlie…."

"I know, I know. 'Night beautiful."

* * *

><p><strong>The Swan Hatch<strong>

"I'm so sorry, I'm late for my shift."

Desmond turned when he heard Danielle, jumped up from his seat at the computer to help her with the load of binders and books she was carrying.

"My lord," Desmond looked at her with some alarm, saw the sheen of sweat on her face, her arms, how she was fighting to catch her breath. "These weigh almost as much as you. How did you carry them all here?"

"I was highly motivated. You need to read these... we both do." Danielle sat on the floor, grabbed one of the binders and started flipping through it. "I saw these on the shelves at the radio tower when I recorded an S.O.S. message many years ago but there was no time to read them."

"They're training manuals," Desmond's eyes were wide as he picked them up and put them down in rapid succession. "The Arrow, the Flame, the Pearl…. How many hatches are there?"

"Quite a few, and every one of them did something… can do something. We need to know everything about this place and what we have to work with. It's the only way we'll destroy them."

"Destroy?" Desmond took a binder with him as he sat back in the chair near the computer, staring down at her. Sometimes Danielle seemed perfectly lucid, and sometimes he felt she was almost delusional. "There are two of us and about fifty of them. How d'you think we'll ever manage to destroy them?"

Desmond saw her draw a little into herself, thinking about her response.

"That… was a strong word. But I need revenge. They could have helped me, they knew what I had gone through, what I lost. Instead they took my child. They have to pay."

"What if…." Desmond got up, took a few more of the books and started toward the living quarters. "… we get your Alex back, and the three of us get the hell out of here together. Isn't that what's really important, my friend?"

He saw anger wash over her eyes once more before she let it go, slumping a little, nodding.

"You may be right. But whatever we do, it certainly won't hurt to know what's here, and what we are up against."

"Agreed," Desmond waved the books in his hand. "I'll take my night reading with me, start with the Pearl and the Arrow. You take a couple of the others and you get our button pushed and we'll talk in the morning, yeah?"

"Yes," Danielle gave him a smile that was all thank you for his patience. "We will. Sleep well."

* * *

><p><strong>New York<strong>

"Dad, do you like Sun?"

Michael had just finished brushing his teeth when the question came faintly to his ears from a room away. He dried his hands on the bathroom towel and walked over to Walt's bedroom.

"Sure I do. She's a very nice, smart, pretty lady, isn't she? But what do you mean, Walt?"

He looked in at his kid under the covers, Vincent at his feet in a large yellow ball, and his heart opened wide at the simple sight of Walt going to sleep. It hit him that it was the first time he'd felt it since they'd made it back to New York, that burst of love that was all gratitude.

"I mean could you maybe love her and get married?" Walt didn't bother to look at him as he asked, settling in on his side, eyes closed, half asleep already. "Because I think it would work out fine. I know she likes me and Vincent. And I see how she looks at you when you're looking somewhere else. And then… it wouldn't be just us."

"Just us is okay, Walt," Michael stepped in to run his hand over Walt's head, to shake his shoulder as a goodnight hug. "We'll be fine."

"How many paintings did you sell?" Walt asked, eyes still closed, but his voice sounding more awake than a moment ago.

"Six. We sold six paintings, fourteen drawings and a couple of sketches."

"That's good, right?" Walt asked, giving Vincent a little kick to wake him, to make him crawl up and flop closer to Walt, who wrapped an arm around him.

"Yeah," Michael said. "That's awesome. We had an awesome night."

"Cool," Walt said. "Goodnight, dad."

"'Night, Walt."


	14. Coincidence or fate?

****Apologies again...** **Sorry to those who have been kind enough to read and comment on this story. I'll either wrap it up or get it on a good roll in the next few chapters, but either way I promise not to just give up and leave them in limbo. :)

* * *

><p><strong>November 2004<br>****Manhattan**

Jack was sure he was walking west right up until the second it hit him he wasn't. Either he was going the wrong way, or the mid-morning sun was in the wrong place in the sky.

Cutting through Central Park from his hotel on the walk to his job interview had seemed like nice diversion, but once he was off the 'grid' New York City looked about as familiar as Reykjavik, which meant not at all.

It felt colder than Iceland, and somehow the wind seemed to be coming straight at him no matter which way he turned. He'd heard that about New York: Umbrellas were kind of useless in the rain, because the wind whipped every way, and it could get cold in October and stay that way right through April.

"What the hell am I doing here?" he asked under his breath, and then answered silently, 'standing still, at the moment'. And that wasn't an option either: He needed a new future to look forward to, and_ that's_ why he was here.

"You look lost," he heard a woman tell him. She'd been walking behind him on the long, graveled path enclosed by huge elm trees on either side. Jack had noted her stylish, fitted coat and boots – all black, tiny gold buttons, very New York. He had heard her talking with a young boy, laughing as he darted around her. She'd been urging him to hold on to his dog, to not let go of the leash. He hadn't paid much attention to them beyond that.

"I might be kind of turned around," he admitted, looked at his watch. "Trying to find St. Luke's -Roosevelt hospital. I know it's West 59th. _Thought_ that's where I was headed…."

"We're walking south east right now," she smiled and pointed. You want to take a right over there. We're going home that way. We can make sure you get there if you'd like?"

"That'd be great. I can't really afford to be late – job interview."

"Doctor or administrator?" She asked, looking him up and down as they walked, didn't wait for an answer before she yelled to her boy again. "Walt, slow down, you're getting too far ahead…"

"Doctor," Jack said, watching Walt stop dead and come tearing back their way. "Your son seems very… high energy."

"My boyfriend's son," she said, smiling wider, shaking her head as Walt and Vincent pulled up to them. Walt's dancing feet scattered gravel everywhere. Vincent was panting happily. "And he doesn't stop until he's asleep. Do you, Walt?"

"You were on our plane," Walt ignored the rhetorical question, not being rude, just distracted as he squinted up at Jack. "My dad and I were coming here from Australia, and we hit this huge bump and there was a blonde lady in front of us who got all shaken up about it. She couldn't catch her breath… and you came and helped her."

"You have a really good memory," Jack said. They'd reached the point where they needed to turn right and Jack found himself looking from Walt to his navigator. She looked as surprised as he did. "Were you on the plane, too?"

Walt had taken off again, and she nodded.

"He doesn't know yet, though. I haven't told his father. We only met a few weeks ago."

Jack started to ask something, and she gave him a little look that suggested better not to.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… pry, it's just that _I_ didn't know it was my half-sister I met on that same plane, the girl who hyperventilated. She was telling me at dinner the other day that she's run into three or four people from the flight, and she's convinced it's fate, that some of us were meant to meet. Now I run into you. It is odd, isn't it?"

"It is. A little. But I don't believe in fate. I believe we either give up on life or we keep trying, keep fighting. That's why I'm here in New York, why I happened to run into you. And if you have a job interview, I'm guessing that's why you're here too. Isn't that just as much of a coincidence?"

They'd reached a huge traffic circle and she pointed across to a spot about 95 degrees from where they were standing.

"You need to go to the street that forks off there. Two more blocks, and you'll see it. I'm Sun," She reached out a hand. "Just in case your sister is right, and I'm wrong - If we meet again we'll have names to go with faces next time."

"I'm Jack. Thanks, Sun." She started to walk away to the left, away from the circle, but he stopped her with a look that had a question mark in it. "Are you happy here? You said you came here to keep trying, to keep fighting for yourself. Are you happy in New York?"

"Love it..." Sun nodded and started walking again. "My life has never been better. I hope you get the job. If you decide you want it. Seems to me you're not sure about that yet."

Jack nodded and watched her go, heard her calling to Walt.

"Better her than me," he thought to himself.

He was half way around the circle when his phone rang, the special tone he'd set up for Claire, and he flinched as he answered—partly because it was 7:30 in the morning back in California, a time of day he'd learned she never saw. And partly because technically… and factually… he hadn't mentioned he was coming here at all.

"Hi Claire,"

"Hey, Jack… listen, sorry to bug, but…" Jack flinched again at the gentle way she said it, like she didn't want to be the prying houseguest asking why he hadn't come home last night. "I could kind of use your help with something and I wondered if you're coming by here before work or…"

"I'm so sorry, I'm… in New York right now."

The pause was so huge he wanted to stop and kick himself, might have if he had the time.

"New York City?"

"Yeah, it's a work thing. I'll be home tomorrow. I'm taking a flight back late tonight. I thought I'd be gone so little time that it'd barely matter. I'm sorry…"

"No worries, really, don't sweat it," she sounded like she meant it and he relaxed his grip on the phone a bit. "I'll give Charlie a call. Have a good trip, okay?"

Jack hung up and swore softly, then looked up to see it – a hospital down the hill from him, so big it took up a whole city block, streams of people walking in, wandering out, an ambulance backing into a garage, and as he watched it he wondered if his fate was inside all that organized chaos somewhere.

"Well," he slipped the phone in his pocket and headed for the front doors. "Here goes."

* * *

><p><strong>Los Angeles<strong>

"Oh… my… God…." Claire had hung up with Jack and was starting to dial Charlie when the second contraction hit. It felt like a combination of getting knifed in the back and the worst misery in the history of leg cramps only in her gut. All she knew was if this was going to keep happening and, God help her, get worse she was going to need drugs and fast – serious drugs, the kind of drugs that made you forget your mother's maiden name and your street address. Now would be good.

She counted and breathed her way through it, eyes tearing, and she got to twelve before it started to subside. She dialed Charlie fast.

"Answer… answer.. c'mon.."

"Hi, love – what are you doing up? Oh fecking hell, will you pleeeaaase get the drum kit in order so we can get this rehearsal going? We have an hour and a half and that is it, we have to head for an interview. Listen, I'm serious…."

She knew everything after the first sentence was him chewing out some poor roadie, and Claire rolled her eyes. Drive Shaft had their first concert the night before, had a solid week of them ahead, and Charlie's voice contained that happy but terrorized sound, like everything was riding on the next seven days and wasn't that wonderful?

"Sorry, babe," he was back. "If you don't push these folks they'll take all bloody day setting up a drum a piano and three guitars," she started to try to get a word in edgewise, but Charlie was shouting again. "Lee, will you leave me the hell alone? I seem to recall you telling me that I should take more responsibility for keeping this show on the bloody rails and that is what I'm… are you serious, did you just _hear_ yourself…"

"It's always going to be this way," Claire said into the phone, half mutter and half sob, and somehow it caught Charlie's ear over his own ranting.

"No it won't, I promise- it's just the first week and it has to go well, you know? It's make or break time, sweetie. As in we're either future studio musicians or future millionaires. Saturday – once we get past Saturday, I promise it'll all lighten up and Liam and I will be dear pals again, I swear…"

"I know you mean that, Charlie," she stopped short of calling bullshit. "Listen, I really need your help right now, I…"

"Baby, I'm sorry, I can't – I'm not kidding, every second is booked through midnight and we're back here at seven. Is it something Jack can help you with, is he there?"

"I'll ask him," she said, her voice heavy but he didn't seem to notice.

"Great. Talk soon, okay? 'Bye, beautiful…"

"Good bye, Charlie."

She stared at the phone a second and decided she'd better take charge if she didn't want to deliver this baby all alone on Jack's living room floor. She called Al the door guy, who was the first person all day who could do something for her, namely get her a cab.

Then she tossed a few things in her suitcase and as she waited for the elevator she thought of her—the girl she'd met in the drug store who has listened to her go on about her new brother and her new boyfriend and how it all seemed too good to be true.

"Kate," she said to herself, smiling when she remembered what she'd said. "Don't worry – there's plenty of time for them to let you down. Well, you were so right."

Claire looked in her purse and found the little slip of paper with Kate's number and she thought, what the hell – she might remember her or she might not, but if she did it could be someone to commiserate with about how damned unfair life can be sometimes.

"C'mon, little one," Claire rubbed her stomach as she got in the cab and shut the door. "Go easy on mommy, okay – 'cause I have no idea what I'm doing here…."

* * *

><p><strong>New York<strong>  
><strong>Broadway and 57th<strong>

"We're home!" Walt had yelled when they walked into Sun's apartment. He kicked off his shoes and ran to 'his' room with Vincent in tow, and Michael didn't miss a thing about any of that as he stood in the doorway to the kitchen, smiling softly.

Sun didn't miss that Michael and Walt's suitcases were near the door.

"I guess this means you've thought about it, and you're not ready to move in yet?" She walked past him and he planted a kiss on top of her head as she did.

"It's been a great long weekend, and as much as I'd love to stay here with you in your huge, beautiful place…." He watched her pulling out tea, plugging in the tea maker and the coffee maker at the same time, their little ritual. "As much as Walt would really, really love to stay, it's too soon. It's only been a few weeks and I can't live on the largesse of another woman, I can't."

"Fine, so keep your awful desk job with the city, but move here. You can chip in on the rent, and you'll have more time for your photography and your drawings. We're happy here, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," Michael sat down at the kitchen table. "But let's face it – that might be because we barely know each other. We jumped in awfully fast, Sun. Ever wonder what you don't know about me?"

"No," Sun frowned as she lied and Michael grinned and shook his head to show he knew better and she relented a little as she spooned the coffee in the coffee maker. "Okay. Let's start now. But please… you have to be patient with me. Some of what you're going to hear, it's not going to be easy…"

"Oh boy," Michael said, kicking back.

"Let's start with my husband," Sun said, bracing for the look on his face. When it dawned, what she'd said, it was as bad as she feared. "You just gave up on me, didn't you?"

"Am I not still sitting here?" Michael said, but it sounded forced, a little hard.

"You are," she pulled out a chair, too. "Thank goodness… you still are."


	15. The End

**Note:** I'm not one to give up on anything easily. But sadly, I do have to put a merciful end to this story. When I started it, I planned on doing one-shot tales for each of the main characters – and then I talked myself into an ongoing, serialized fic I never should have taken on. Add the HUGE dip in traffic to LOST stories, and sadly… it just doesn't make sense to invest the hours and hours it takes to write a single chapter, let alone thirty more. That said, I wanted to wrap it up and give an idea where it all went in my head – and hopefully it's a fun farewell. I love LOST, miss it like crazy, and if you're reading this- I know you do, too.

* * *

><p><strong>Sydney Airport<br>September 22, 2007**

"Do you want to grab anything from his diaper bag? Maybe stash what you need in the seat pouch?" Charlie handed it down to Claire in her seat, Aaron bleary-eyed and cuddling into her shoulder.

"Yeah, thanks, babe." She started picking through it as Charlie turned back to stowing their things in the overhead bin. "Do you think they'd slide his food in their fridge?"

Claire handed him up a little Tupperware container and kept digging.

"Don't see why not. Be right back."

She smiled as Charlie kissed the top of her head and made his way toward the galley. Then she caught the eye of the passenger just over the aisle; a man who'd been watching their domestic machinations with a smile.

"I have the best news all day." She gestured toward Aaron. "You are _not_ sitting next to the screaming baby. There may_ be_ one on the flight, but it won't be my guy here."

"That _is_ good news," he said. "Your baby looks like he's a travel veteran, ready to do the smartest thing possible on takeoff: Fall asleep."

"He _has_ logged about a quarter million miles in just under three years. I'm Claire," she smiled and he nodded. "This one is Aaron. And his step-dad back there is…"

"Charlie Pace, I know. I try not to be the old dude who doesn't know the current bands." He reached over to shake her hand. "I'm John Locke. And I swear I won't be a bother either – 'cause I'm exhausted."

"Were you on holiday? Did you get to see much of Australia?" Claire sat back and pushed the diaper bag under the seat with her foot. "You Americans never seem to have much time off…

"I have a generous boss. Spent a month on a Walkabout, keeping a promise to myself."

"Ah, that's awesome," Charlie was back, and scooting past Claire to the set next to her, taking Aaron from her arms to hold him. "Charlie, this is John. He just did a Walkabout."

"We need to talk," Charlie nodded. "I keep threatening one myself, as often as we come here these days. She keeps saying she'll kill me if I try it."

"At the risk of annoying Claire I'll be glad to tell you how fantastic it was. But I think I'll hit the men's before we're taxiing. Maybe I can snag us some of those little bottles from the bar cart."

He unbuckled and started walking down the aisle, smiling at her slightly scandalized grin.

"Worth a try. They can't any more than take 'em back from me."

* * *

><p><strong>Densepar, Bali<strong>

"You're going to be very jealous of me in about eight seconds," Sayid said from where he was standing by the kitchen island deveining pounds of shrimp. Then he paused for effect. "I've met the people who took the house next door. The ones you are overly curious about."

Shannon's mouth popped open in a jealous moue, eyes squinting as she dropped her car keys and several bags of groceries on the counter, started unpacking them.

"All I ever see are their cars! It's killing me. What are they like? Mister and Misses Dullsville, right? We'll be hiding from them every time we run to the car…"

"Ohhh no," Sayid got that crafty little grin on his face that made Shannon want to jump him. "They are anything but dullsville. They are also not so much a …well, I'm not versed in the terminology but there are three of them in that particular couple."

"Hell, it's your wet dream. Two women shacking up with some guy?"

"So very wrong again, dear," Sayid said. "Two men. Both of the men are – and I say this as your entirely straight husband – an eyeful. She's lovely. Sharp. Mysterious, which is odd because she's from Iowa and very few mysterious girls spring forth from Iowa in my experience. We talked when we both went to get the mail."

"Is she pretty?" Shannon stepped behind him, asked it against his ear.

"Very. But somehow… I feel we'd only ever be platonic friends. Even if you ditched me for her boyfriends. Have you ever gotten that sense about someone right from the start?"

"Yes," Shannon said. "And I'm thrilled to hear it."

"I invited them to our little gathering tonight," Sayid handed her the bowl of shrimp tails and let her toss them in the disposal as he finished his task.

"I hope we picked up enough food." She looked over the stuff spread out on the counter.

"Of course we did. We always overcook. We were going to be six, now we'll be nine. There's enough for a dozen people, easily."

"What do they do? Our pretty, scandalous neighbors?" Shannon grabbed a knife to start chopping vegetables.

"One of the men is a doctor. A surgeon. The other does investment banking or import-export, she wasn't exactly clear. I'd guess _he's_ where they got the money to semi-retire in paradise at a ridiculously young age. As for her… my impression is she pretty much just does them."

Shannon's sharp laugh followed by a giggle was full of 'you're so bad - and I love it.'

* * *

><p><strong>Denpasar, Bali again - just down the block<strong>

"I hope we put enough thought into the hostess gift," Penny looped her left arm through Desmond's right, and looked down at the box of pricey, exotic bath salts in her other hand.

"Are you kidding?" Desmond let go of the rolling suitcase to knock on the door. "After all she went through, anything related to kitchen or bath is a huge hit. She'll love it."

They saw the peephole in the door slide open, shut, and Desmond smiled at her checking first. Also not shocking, all considered.

"Oh, you did come, I was afraid you'd change your mind!" Danielle practically pulled them both in, waved them to the living room with hugs and smiles. "You must be exhausted, how long have you been traveling here?"

"Three days," Desmond noticed how well Rousseau looked, so polished and put together in slacks, blouse, and low-key jewelry; very French. "_And _there was a slight kerfuffle over docking the Searcher here, something about paperwork, but even with that it felt like a vacation after the last three years. Right?"

"Can you stay the whole month?"

"If you'll have us, absolutely," Penny settled in on the couch. "We've never been to Bali, either of us. I'd love to really get to know it.

"Then you will," Danielle headed for the kitchen. "Settle in, I'll open a bottle of wine. I hope you don't mind, a colleague of mine invited us to a dinner party tonight. Alex is out shopping, she'll join us there. She can't wait to see you again!"

* * *

><p><strong>Approaching Ngurah Rai Airport<strong>  
><strong>18,000 feet<strong>

"John," Claire shook Locke's shoulder lightly. "John, wake up.

He barely moved, just popped an eye open and then rubbed them both. He'd been _out._ Now the plane looked unexpectedly busy; people buckling up, stewards collecting trays and drinks in a hurry.

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing serious," Claire said. "Something to do with a stuck gauge you really don't want stuck on you. There's weather in Sydney, so… they're circling back and north. We'll be landing in Bali soon.

"That's one hell of a detour," Locke said as Claire walked by toward the ladies' room, giving his shoulder a squeeze in agreement

"Claire's brother lives in Bali," Charlie said from his seat, Aaron out like a light on his shoulder. "You should come stay with us - they've got tons of room. Beats sleeping on the floor in the airport.

"I'm not too proud to take you up on that," John searched around for his shoes. "These bones have been through enough. I need a bed."

It took two plus hours of shuffling slowly in line to get through customs. Charlie left the line with Aaron to search them up some coffee, and Claire and John kicked their luggage along foot by foot

"Sorry we're a little testy," She said

"I don't have any baseline of 'couples behavior' to compare you to," John said. "You seem perfectly happy to me."

"We're good. We are. _Now_. We … went through a couple of rough patches. Three of them. Not that you asked."

"God didn't make any perfect children, Claire," John shrugged, smiling softly.

"That's for sure. Me, I've got abandonment issues you could drive a truck through. I put Charlie through some things because of it. His issues? Well, there isn't enough time, even in this line. And then," she squinted, "I kind of fell in love with his brother."

"That rings a bell." John said. "I watch 'The Soup'."

"Aw, hell, yeah, that was… _ouch_." Claire said. "Happily, I didn't break up the band. And I know we'll always have to _work_ at it, at being a couple. But we will."

"Oh thank goodness," John picked up their bags as the line lurched forward. "Looks like we might get there sometime tonight."

* * *

><p><strong>Shannon and Sayid's<strong>  
><strong>Dinner for 12<strong>

"That's a gorgeous necklace," Penny eyed the pale blue gemstones strung on a thick silver chord around Kate's neck. Kate's fingers went to it.

"Thanks, it's a favorite of mine. A friend in New York had a gallery. She hosted a jewelry exhibition and..." She paused as Sawyer stepped up behind her, draped his arms around her waist, kissed the back of her head. "I couldn't resist it. It's sad – she disappeared. I heard she and her boyfriend are running from her ex-husband. You just never know what some people are dealing with."

"Too true," Penny said, looking over at where Desmond was standing with Danielle, catching up with Alex as she arrived. Alex was all smiles to see him, arms out for a hug.

A few yards away John, Charlie and Claire were sitting with drinks in hand, John finishing up his walkabout story.

"I'm confused," John said, catching sight of Sawyer wrapped around Kate. "Claire, I thought you said she's seeing your brother?"

"She is," Claire said. "It's…. complicated. "

"I guess so." John said.

"Don't get me wrong, I like Kate fine," Claire wrinkled her nose. "I like Sawyer for that matter, too. But I think they're thick as thieves. I _don't_ buy he's an investment banker and I think _she's_ the reason they had to skip New York and take up the expat life. I _do_ believe we were all supposed to have met, though."

"Oh God, here she goes," Charlie said and John looked at him with a question mark in his expression. "Claire has a theory that because a bunch of us were supposed to meet – all because we were on the same, bad, flight three years ago."

"Three years ago… tonight?" John asked. "Oceanic 815? With the turbulence and the going in the wrong direction for a couple thousand miles? I was on that flight."

"Shut the damn door," Claire said. "Jack!"

"Yeah?" He popped out of the kitchen where he'd been pretty much since their arrival, helping Sayid and Shannon with the food.

"John, here, was on 815 with us. _Now_ do you believe me?"

"Who? I'm sorry, I saw you earlier but I didn't get the chance to say …." Jack walked their way, an increasingly stunned look on his face. "Mr. Locke?"

"Doctor Shephard?" John stood and shook his hand.

"Don't tell me…." As much as Claire wanted to prove her point, she wasn't quite ready for this.

"Your brother is the reason I'm walking around the party instead of wheeling around it," John said.

Claire gave Jack an 'I freaking told you so' look.

"All right," Jack said. "It might be time to admit… you may have a point."

They had just settled around the dinner table when the sound of a text message hitting John's phone made him stop and look.

"Well what do you know?" he waved the phone, tapped something back into it. "My boss just got engaged. To the staff psychologist he hired for our company."

"Hugo? The guy I thought was your son?" Jack asked and John nodded, put away the phone.

"Congratulations to Hugo," Danielle said and they all toasted, smiling, clinking glasses, never suspecting they'd all be sitting together at the wedding in ten months' time.

* * *

><p>"How about our host and hostesses' friends over there?" Charlie asked, pointing generally toward Penny, Desmond, Danielle and Alex.<p>

Dessert was done, and they were sprawled in small groups, drinking and talking and enjoying the end of the evening.

"They weren't on the plane. Were we supposed to meet them?" Charlie asked.

"Yes," Claire said, smiling sweetly in lieu of actual evidence. "I'll pick their brains silly before we crash for the night. Bet you I can find the connection."

"Well sure," Charlie said. "Try hard enough and you can find a connection anywhere. Can't you, beautiful?"

~~fin~~


End file.
